


Until I See You Again

by sneakronicity



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Divorced Clint Barton, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-08 07:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneakronicity/pseuds/sneakronicity
Summary: A few weeks after the snap is reversed, Clint is struggling to fit back into his old life. He's not the same person he was five years ago, and he can't just go back to how things were, so he makes a drastic change and tries to find new purpose in a world without Natasha.But what if he doesn't have to? What if there's a way to get her back?Post Endgame fix-it fic
Relationships: Clint Barton & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Clint Barton & Sam Wilson, Clint Barton & Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Scott Lang/Hope Van Dyne
Comments: 110
Kudos: 158





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've been picking at this fic for six months now and finally I've reached a point I can start sharing it. Yes, this is a canon-compliant fic, but I promise Laura only appears in this one chapter then Clint is free to build actual character development and relationships.
> 
> Huge thanks to Cass for being my beta and helping me make this work, and to my Clintasherson fam for listening to me talk about this fic for the past six months and being so amazing and encouraging. So much love!

He heard her footsteps before the basement door opened, listened as she descended the stairs, but he didn’t look up from his work. “Are you coming to bed tonight?” Laura asked, same as she had the night before, and the night before that. For three weeks he had been holed up in the basement and his answer remained the same.

“I’m gonna stay down here. I’ve got work to finish,” Clint replied, blowing a puff of air at the trick arrow head in his hand to remove the fine metal filings and inspecting it closely.

Every night she accepted this answer and left him to his vices, but apparently she’d had enough. “The world isn’t going to end if you wait until tomorrow to finish that… is that a boomerang arrow?” She laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea, but when he looked up at her sharply the mirth faded.

“The world can end in a snap, and we’re down our…” his voice cracked suddenly and he looked away. “We’re down our best heroes. When I’m needed, I’m gonna be there this time.” 

He tried to tell himself she just didn’t understand, that she hadn’t been there so there was no way that she could, but there was so much more to it than that. She could _never_ understand, and the one person who could was gone because of him. Because of them.

Guilt was eating him up inside, guilt that he had been piling up reasons for for more than ten years now. Guilt and regret that had started to fester and mutate into something else.

Resentment.

“Clint, you couldn’t have done anything to stop it,” Laura tried to reassure him but he shook his head.

“You don’t know that.”

She looked at him sympathetically. “All the other Avengers were there, and they weren’t able to stop him. There’s nothing you could have done.”

Ah, so that was it, wasn’t it. If all the others with their godlike powers and and fancy tech couldn’t stop Thanos then what could the guy with a bow and arrow do? Was that what she really thought of him? What they all thought? “I could have tried,” Clint insisted. “I should have been there with them, not stuck on house arrest. The others didn’t let that stop them.”

“The others didn’t have a family to think of.” 

She was trying to placate him, but there was an edge to her tone when she said that, a note of frustration and judgement that angered him. “So that makes it okay?” he shot back, “To abandon them to fight a world ending threat while I stay here and chop wood and have picnics?”

She clenched her jaw, trying to keep her emotions in check. She had tried to be understanding and give him space, but it was clear she was reaching the end of her rope. Taking a deep breath and swallowing down her anger, she stepped forward and placed her hand softly on his arm. “You didn’t know.”

“But I should have!” He exploded, brushing off her touch and getting to his feet, putting distance between them. “I should have been there!”

She dropped her hand back to her side, back rigid, expression a mixture of hurt, frustration, and anger. “It was five years ago, you can’t keep beating yourself up over it,” Laura tried to soothe him, but her tone was more annoyed than sympathetic now, and everything she said was the wrong thing. There was no right thing she _could_ say.

“Yeah, five years _for me_, but _not_ you.” He rounded on her and pointed at her as he said it, movements sharp, jagged, so different that the usual controlled reserve he exhibited. He tried again to tell himself that she didn’t know, that she _couldn’t_ know. But she should. “You think this is all about not stopping the snap in the first place? That wasn’t even the beginning! “ He was breathing heavily now as he felt that heavy weight on his chest again, like a hand squeezing his heart, compressing his lungs, making it hard to focus, to function. “You know things haven’t been the same since Loki. Then SHIELD fell, and then this happened and… if I had been there I might have been able to prevent it from happening in the first place, but after that…” he shook his head, not ready to dredge up the more distant past so focusing on the more recent events, “you have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“Then tell me!” It was the first she had raised her voice in weeks, and it was the push he needed. They had both been walking on eggshells since this had all gone down, and it was time to get over it. It was time to lay it all out.

“You wanna know, Laura? You really wanna know?” he said, his voice a strange combination of condescension and pleading. He knew she wouldn’t handle it well, knew exactly how this would push her away, but he also needed her to hear it, needed to say it out loud. She needed to know what he had become. “Because if I tell you there’s no taking it back. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

She hesitated, weighing the decision carefully. He could see she was curious, but also annoyed at his behaviour lately; she was feeling contrary, frustrated, concerned, angry, and beneath it all he could see something else: a hint of fear. She knew as well as he did this was the point of no return. She could just walk away, put it off like she always did, like she had in the past, but this time there was no more pretending, no more missions to give them space to forget. It was time to face the music.

She steeled herself and replied, “I want to know.”

He knew he should sugarcoat it, that for her no time had passed so she didn’t have to fit back into a post snap life. They were isolated here, nothing had changed like it had for the rest of the world… like it had for Clint. He shouldn’t be angry with her for not getting it and trying to push him to move past it, but he was tired. He was tired of pretending, tired of living this lie. He wasn’t the man he had been before, and he couldn’t just go back to that. He couldn’t just move on like nothing had happened. 

“When I lost all of you I went off the deep end. I didn’t know what to do with myself, and I couldn’t accept that bad people in the world got to live while good people didn’t.” It was a gross simplification of what had really happened, but he did not want to get into that now. The reasons were much more deep-seeded and complicated than that, had been building for years even before the snap, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t change the outcome, and it was the outcome that mattered now.

“Clint, that’s understandable. I think every good person wonders that in their lifetime.” She was trying to be reassuring, not just to him but herself as well, but it grated on his nerves instead. 

“Yeah, but good people don’t go on killing sprees because of it.” He stated it so bluntly that for a moment the silence closed in around them so thick it was almost suffocating. 

He could see her working it out in her head, coming up with an acceptable excuse. He knew how her mind worked, could read her like a book. There had never been anything complicated there, she was completely open and transparent. She hadn’t had to learn how to disguise every thought and emotion for fear of death. “I have known what your job was from the beginning,” was her eventual reply. It wasn’t going to cut it.

“This wasn’t a job,” he said, shaking his head but keeping his eyes locked on her face. “This wasn’t taking people out from a distance, cleanly and efficiently. This was personal. I traded my bow for a blade so I had to get close, so I could see their eyes as I killed them. And I enjoyed it. It was satisfying watching the light fade from their eyes, washing away all the blood at the end of the day. I was judge, jury, and executioner and it was the only thing that made me feel alive.”

She unconsciously took a step back from him, and he could see it in her eyes, the moment she mentally recoiled as well, the moment she realized that this wasn’t the same man she had married. There had been signs over the years, ever since his exposure to Loki’s sceptre, but they had spent so much time apart and he had hid it well. For her this hadn’t been gradual. For her everything had changed over night. One moment he had been an attentive father and steady husband, the next he was distant, brooding, and could barely even look at any of them without practically projecting sadness and pain. 

“I can’t take back what I did, and I can’t just pretend it never happened,” Clint continued. Hanging his head, he tried to drum up the courage to do what needed to be done; what was best for all of them. “While I was off playing vigilante… she was holding what she could of the team together. She was helping children that had lost their parents, protecting people and following the rules while she did it. I can’t-“ his voice cracked and he swallowed hard, trying to blink back his tears. “She was the best of us. She atoned for her past a thousand times over but would never quite believe it, but me… I dunno if I ever can and…”

Something had broken within him when Natasha had died, something deep and fundamental to everything he was. He had lost himself over the past decade, slowly at first, then more rapidly after the snap, but in that short time when he had her back he felt centred again, more like himself than he had in years. She reminded him of who he was, what he stood for, and then she was gone and nothing made sense anymore. How could the world keep turning when she was no longer part of it? How did the sun rise? The tides change? How could he just go on with his life now that half of him was missing? Because that’s what it felt like, as if his soul have been torn in two and he’d never be whole again. 

“It shoulda been me.” The words were so soft they were barely audible. He hadn’t meant them for Laura’s ears, but they had just slipped out, a statement so true he couldn’t stop it.

She hesitated before she protested, the words feeble, uncertain. “Clint, don’t say that-“

“It should have been me!” He cut her off for both their sakes. What if she tried to tell him his family needed him, if she unknowingly threw Natasha’s words back at him? He couldn’t bear it. “But it wasn’t, and I gotta live with that, but I can’t do that here. I can’t just fit back into this life. I’m not that person anymore. I can’t… I just can’t.”

He closed his eyes to try to hold back his tears, and she made no move to comfort him. Would he have let her if she had tried? 

“Clint, you’re tired. We can talk about this tomorrow.” Her voice sounded so distant, so hollow. It was just lip service, words she knew she was supposed to say, but they both knew there was no point to it. She knew everything now, everything he had done, everything he was feeling, and she finally understood. Not what he was going through, not what he was feeling, not _him, _but she understood why he could never go back. One night, one year, one lifetime wouldn’t matter. He had changed beyond recognition, and they had stayed the same.

It was over.

“Try to get some sleep,” was the last thing she said, her tone flat, emotionless. Whatever they’d once had had been broken long ago, but now they were finally on the same page.

She left him alone then, and he collapsed onto the old futon that had been his bed since he had returned. That had been hard, but tomorrow would be harder. Tomorrow they would tell the kids. Tomorrow he would pack his things and set them all free. 

Tomorrow he would take a page out of Natasha’s book and start atoning for what he had done. He would find a way to honour her memory. She had died so he could live, and he would not waste what time he had left. Somehow he would do right by her.


	2. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starting over isn't as easy as it sounds, especially in a post Blip world. Step one: find somewhere to stay, at least temporarily.

_This is a mistake,_ thought Clint as he stood nervously at the front entrance of the modest condo in Connecticut. Of the albeit short list of options he could have chosen, why had he settled on this one? Sam was the better choice, right? At least they had done a bit of time together if nothing else, but Clint wasn’t sure what the situation was with Bucky, if they were just living together temporarily out of convenience or if there was more to it than that. It was none of his business anyway, and besides the point. Three grown men in whatever kind of lodging they’d managed to secure didn’t really sound like a good time at this stage in his life.

Infrastructure around the world was pretty strained. Half the population had vanished in the blink of an eye, and many buildings were left unmaintained. With no heat, pipes froze and burst, homes flooded, and mould grew leaving them inhabitable. Now, suddenly, everyone was back and the world was struggling to accommodate them again. There was a housing crisis, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. Everything in production had adjusted to the new population, from food to clothing to paper, and now the demand was greater than many companies could supply. The one upside, besides people being alive again, was that for the foreseeable future there should be an abundance of jobs in pretty much every field. It was fascinating, honestly, and Clint hoped to delve deep into the mechanics of it all in the coming days.

Not that he was looking for more things to distract him or anything.

One thing at a time, though, and right now the thing was finding himself somewhere to live. It wasn’t feasible to immediately find his own place, so he had to rely on the kindness of people who were more like colleagues than friends and hope he wasn’t asking too much. And that it wouldn’t be awkward as fuck.

A woman hurried past him into the building, eyeing him suspiciously and clearly expecting him to ‘backpack’ behind her through the secure door. Honestly, he considered it, but he should at least give some sort of warning, and he didn’t feel like being maced on top of everything else he’d already gone through today. Time to suck it up and take his shot before someone called the cops on him for loitering. Stepping into the lobby, Clint keyed in the four digit code and waited until a familiar voice answered over the intercom. “Uh, hey Rhodey, it’s Clint. Can I come up?”

There was a pregnant pause, then a simple “Sure. Fourth floor.” The door buzzed and unlocked and Clint adjusted the duffle bag on his shoulder and made for the elevator. Step one complete, but getting here was the easy part. He still had to explain why he was here, had to ask for help. Clint hated asking for any sort of charity, but he didn’t really have much of a choice.

Stopping on the fourth floor, the doors slid open with a gentle chime, and Clint saw Rhodey standing in a doorway down the hall, waving at him. His arm stopped abruptly, freezing in place before he lowered it as Clint moved towards him. The luggage was clearly a dead giveaway that this wasn’t just a casual visit. “Going somewhere?” Rhodey asked as he approached, expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Here, I hope,” Clint said with a halfhearted grin, stopping just outside the door. Rhodey’s eyebrows shot up and Clint shifted his weight nervously. “My marriage kinda imploded and I was hoping you wouldn’t mind a bit of company.”

The answer was blunt, and clearly not anything that Rhodey could've even began to expect, and he stared at Clint for a long time before stepping back and gesturing inside. “You better come in and tell me about it.”

Clint owed him an explanation, he knew he did, but the last thing he wanted to do was talk about what had happened. He had barely slept last night, there had been so much to plan and think about, and trying to decide who to ask to take him in for a while was pretty high on the list. Sure, there was also the fact that he had decided to uproot his entire life and walk away from his family, but somehow that had been easier to accept than thinking about the future. It was easier to accept an inevitable past that had teetered on this outcome several times before than to plan for a future where nothing was certain.

What did that say about him as a person? About his life? Telling his kids he was leaving hadn’t been easy, but it hadn’t been as hard as it should have been. It’s not like he had really been around much for most of their childhoods, always away for some mission or another. He had said goodbye to them so many times, never really knowing if he’d ever see them again; it was the nature of his job, making it out alive was never a certainty. Of course this was different; this time he knew he wouldn’t be coming back, they all did, and it was by his own choice. He hoped they wouldn’t hate him for it, but he knew it was what was best for all of them. They could have a real life now; they could go to school, make friends, have lives outside of the farm they had been isolated on since they’d been born.

He should have let them go sooner. He had been selfish. 

Maybe he still was.

“Five years is a long time. I just… couldn’t make it work anymore,” he said once inside, the best explanation he could give right now. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I wasn’t sure where to go and I just kinda ended up here. I thought…” He trailed off.

He had thought that Rhodey might be the one person who could understand what he was going through. They had both lost the most important person in their lives, the one person who had always been there, who understood completely everything they had been through. The person they took for granted would just be there; the person whose absence left a massive hole in their life, in the world. It hung between the two of them, heavy and unspoken, but Clint could tell from Rhodey’s expression that he got it and knew exactly why this was the place he’d chosen.

“I’m not set up for a guest room, but you’re welcome to the couch,” Rhodey said after a long pause, choosing not to mention it, a fact Clint was very grateful for. Talking about Natasha, about losing her… he couldn’t handle that today, not today. Maybe not ever.

“Couch is fine!” He replied a little too quickly, letting out the breath he’d been holding and feeling a wave of relief wash over him. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but it was something, and it gave him some space to breathe and think. He had a place to rest his head now, somewhere where he didn’t have to pretend or try to live up to any expectations. It was the first step to moving forward, something he never would have been able to do on the farm. 

Slipping the lock on the door, Rhodey vanished off into the hallway for a moment, returning with a stack of bedding in his arms. “Ground rules,” he said, all business though there was a twinkle in his eye that said he was probably going to enjoy this part. Or maybe it was just a test to gauge how Clint was reacting to, well, everything. “I want this folded up every day when you get up, I still gotta live here too. And that getting up? Better be in the morning. We don’t sleep until noon here.” He dropped the blankets and pillows onto the sofa. “Towels are in that closet, you’re going to have to buy your own toiletries, and no staying up to 3AM with the TV cranked. If you can handle that we’re good, but if you leave any dirty dishes or wet towels laying around, we’re gonna have words. Got it?”

Clint wasn’t sure if Rhodey was being serious or not, so he figured it was best to nod his head and accept any conditions that were laid out before him. “Got it,” he agreed, placing his bags down in the corner as unobtrusively as possible. “Thanks for letting me stay. It’s only for a couple of weeks until I find my own place, promise.” Or so he hoped, but these days even hope was hard to come by. 

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Rhodey replied, but his expression had softened. Maybe they hadn’t had a whole lot of time to get to know each other before, but there was a connection between them now, and not just due to their mutual losses. 

Natasha. Over those five years her and Rhodey had grown close, and in some ways Clint felt closer to her already just being here, in his presence. It was stupid, and probably not all that healthy, but he didn’t care. In this moment he somehow felt better than he had since he lost her. At least a little.

“So… how’s the cleanup going?” Clint asked after a long moment of silence, awkwardly stuffing his hands into his pockets, unsure what else to do with them.

“Slow. Could be done in no time if we just dozed everything, but we’ve been sifting through it all, in case there’s anything salvageable,” Rhodey explained, his searching gaze fixed on Clint. There might be things in the remains of their base that could be useful to the Avengers, but there was more to it than that. It had been Natasha’s home for those five years, and her belongings could still exist in there, somewhere. Rhodey didn’t have the heart to just flatten it all anymore than Clint did.

Clint swallowed. “I wanna help,” he said, trying to keep his voice even and hating the note of desperation he heard in it. “Not just the scavenging, but with the team. Organizing, strategizing… all the other ‘izings’.” He didn’t just want to help, he _needed_ to. He needed a purpose, a way to do good, to be better, to… to wipe the red from his ledger. And above all else he needed to carry on Natasha’s legacy. It could never make up for all the time he had left her alone, but he could do his best to honour her memory now.

Rhodey nodded in understanding. He had been there, he knew what Natasha had done, how she had held everything together pretty much single handedly, and how important it was to her. And, because of that, how important it is now to the man before him. “We can use all the hands we can get. We’ve been talking about rebuilding, we’re going to need a new base, but maybe it’s not the best place…”

“Nah, it’s a good place,” Clint cut him off with reassurance. There were bad memories there for sure, but Thanos didn’t deserve to win anything, even after death. Clint would not let that bastard drive them away from the last place they had been together as a team, no matter how little was left of it.

“Yeah, I think so too,” Rhodey agreed, clearly feeling the same way, and that was all that needed to be said. “Coffee?”

“God yes,” Clint exhaled, toeing his luggage further into the corner before following Rhodey to the kitchen. The sleepless nights were really stacking up now, and Clint couldn’t remember the last good night’s sleep he’d had. Probably the last night at the base, with Natasha’s comforting words in his head and hope in his heart. Then everything had gone to hell, and now he had pretty much burned his old life down after getting it back. He had spent the whole night dreading this day; dreading telling his kids he was leaving, dreading finding somewhere to stay. Dreading starting over. But now… now he felt relieved that it was over, and that his road ahead was at least somewhat clear. He had a purpose, he had redemption to earn, and for now that was enough. It was something; something to keep him busy, something to keep him distracted… something to keep him going without her. If he didn’t have that, all he would have was the guilt. Guilt over what he had become, over abandoning his family, but more than anything the guilt of failing Natasha.

“So…” Rhodey’s voice shook Clint from his thoughts. “I’m heading up to visit Pepper and Morgan on Friday. You’re welcome to go with me,” he offered as he started the coffee brewing.

Clint froze a moment before looking down at his feet. “I, uh… I better not,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. How could he? For one, it wasn’t like he knew Pepper well, or Morgan at all, so that was awkward enough, but how could he face them? How could he look them in the eyes knowing his family only lived because theirs had died? His family that he had just walked out on while they would likely give anything to have even one more moment with Tony? He couldn’t face them, and he couldn’t expect them to welcome him. “I’ve got stuff to do. I wanna get up to date on what’s been going on here and figure out what shape we’re in. Should probably give Wanda a call too…”

“Hey, it’s no problem,” Rhodey said, holding up a hand to stall any more excuses. “Mi casa es su casa, I’m sure you can fend for yourself while I’m gone.”

Another thing to add to Clint’s list of regrets: not getting to know Rhodey better years ago. The man seemed highly intelligent and empathetic, and exactly the kind of person who he needed to be around right now. “Thanks, man.”

“Stop thanking me, it’s fine.” He poured two mugs of coffee and handed one to Clint. “You know, if you want to talk…”

Clint shook his head quickly. “I’m fine, I just need to make myself useful, you know?” He wasn’t a very open person, but then living the secretive and often isolating life he did it wasn’t any wonder. All that time with SHIELD, it wasn’t like he could talk to anyone outside the organization about his job, and after what Loki had done to him even being at SHIELD with people who understood the work he had been an outcast. Now, after these past five awful years… he wanted to talk about it, wanted to open up to someone who would get it, but it was a struggle. Natasha had understood; Laura hadn’t. What would Rhodey think? Should he tell Wanda? Would they all see him differently if they knew everything he had done? Would they look at him with the same disgust Laura had? The same loathing he felt for himself?

They all deserved to know, but he didn’t know how to tell them. Maybe… maybe they already knew. 

Maybe they never should. 

It was his burden, his cross to bear. He would just keep it in, bottle it up, stamp it down.

Hope it never happened again.

Picking up the newspaper that sat on the counter, he flipped past the important stuff and settled on the entertainment section. “They’re making another Hot Tub Time Machine movie,” he stated, not so subtly changing the subject. 

If Rhodey had been expecting or hoping for a more in depth conversation he hid it well. “The first one was fine but it didn’t need a sequel, let alone multiple ones. Sometimes one movie is enough.”

And so it went that the first day of Clint’s new life was spent debating worthy sequels and watching a few very unworthy ones, while drinking far too much.

And while he might not have slept great, it was still a better sleep than he’d had for weeks. Not that that was saying much.


	3. Part 2

The cafe was quiet, with only a few scattered tables occupied by people who looked like they had chosen it for that very reason. Clint certainly had. It had just reopened after five years of sitting vacant, and had yet to regain all its capabilities let alone its clientele.

How many businesses were there out there just like this one? Stuck in the past and trying to pick up where they left off when the world moved on without them? How many would fail? How many had been repurposed while the owners were blipped? Everyone was back now, but adjusting to this might be even harder than it had been to adjust to them being gone. Some people had never moved on and had welcomed the return, but what of the people who had? Past and present colliding couldn’t be easy to deal with, and even those in the former group like Clint had found picking up again impossible.

Staring thoughtfully out the window, he saw Wanda crossing the street toward the cafe, the sun gleaming on her hair making it glow like fire, and for a moment another redhead was brought to mind. _The shade is all wrong,_ he thought, ignoring the pain in his heart and rising to his feet to greet her as she approached.

“Clint, it’s good to see you,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. He noted how her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and how the hug felt almost absent, like part of a routine with no feeling behind it.

“Sorry, it's been a while,” he apologized. He had called her when he’d moved to the city, told her what had happened, but this was the first time he’d seen her since Tony’s funeral. Taking his seat again, he surveyed her quickly as she ordered her coffee, then asked for a refill himself. She looked thinner, sharper, like her features had been carved from stone. “You look good,” he said anyway.

This time when she smiled it was slightly more genuine, like she was still in there somewhere, just sleeping. “So do you,” she replied, knowing full well he was lying so doing the same in return. “Tired of the mohawk?”

Clint chuckled self consciously, rubbing the side of his head where they hair had grown back in. “Yeah, well… it’s a pain to keep up.” The waitress arrived with their coffee and they took a moment to just try to relax in each other’s company. It was slightly easier now that the ice was broken. “How have you been?” He asked eventually. He knew it was a stupid question, obviously she wasn’t doing well, but it was what one asked after not seeing each other for some time. Or any time really, Standard small talk.

She seemed to take his question more seriously though, and contemplated it longer than he expected. “Every once in a while I have a moment where I think maybe I will get through this and move on again, but it always fades,” she replied, eyes fixed somewhere outside the large window. 

Wanda was so young, but had lost so much in so few years. Her parents, her brother, her lover, her friend. It was too much for one person, and it wasn’t fair that she had to go through this. _She has nothing and you have everything, yet you throw it all away. _He hated the thought, the guilt. Would he ever be able to be around most of his friends again without this nagging guilt? When Wanda had lost Pietro it had almost tore her apart, but she had been so strong, had turned her pain into good instead of letting the darkness consume her like he had. She was the one who deserved her loved ones back, who deserved to be happy, to live with more than just regret and loss. 

When Clint looked up at her again he found her studying him with a piercing gaze, like she could see deep down into his soul, see the ugliness, the rot that was eating him up from the inside. 

He looked away.

“The offer still stands. If you wanna come back to the Avengers, we could use the help getting everything back up and running smoothly again,” he said, clearing his throat. What if she secretly hated him? If she resented him for getting his family back while hers was gone forever? But not Natasha; Natasha they had both lost.

“I appreciate it,” Wanda replied evenly, her voice not cold, but not warm either. “But I need to be on my own right now.” She paused for a long moment, and when she continued it was with the first hint of emotion in her voice, “I might travel for a few weeks. There are too many memories… maybe going somewhere I have not been will help.”

Clint got that. Despite what he was doing for the Avengers, his words to Rhodey about helping, he had yet to set foot back on the destroyed base. He wasn’t quite ready to face that yet, but he would have to soon. “I could go with you… if you wanted,” he said quietly, more a plea than an offer.

The wall she had built up between them seemed to crumble then, even if only a little, and she reached across the table and took his hand. “You are needed here,” she said, a faint but affectionate smile on her lips, “But I appreciate the offer.”

Laying his free hand over hers, Clint squeezed it gently. He wasn’t so sure he was needed anywhere, maybe he never had been, but he didn’t voice this. He had lost Natasha, but Wanda had lost pretty much everyone. Everyone except for him. And it was so easy to forget that while it had been over five years for him, for Wanda it had been only weeks since Vision’s death. “Just know the offer is always there. Whenever you need me, I’m here.”

“Thank you, Clint,” she said softly, her eyes slightly wet. Maybe she was a bit distant, a bit cut off from her emotions, but he knew Wanda was still in there, he just had to coax her out. And he had meant his words, he would be there for her no matter what. “I do not know how I would have gotten through losing Pietro without you, or the others. We must stick together, yes?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. When Pietro had died she had had an army to rally around her, but now who was left? He and Sam were probably the only ones she had spent any amount of time with left, unless she wanted to go hang out at the old folks home or wherever it was that Steve had taken up residence. He had essentially abandoned her, abandoned all of them, but Clint wasn’t quite ready to work through his feelings on that whole issue yet.

“Then you know I am here for you as well,” Wanda continued. Clint nodded, figuring that was acknowledgement enough, but she wasn’t finished. “She would be proud of you.”

The words were supposed to be comforting, but they hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, knocking all the air from his lungs. How could she be proud? Natasha had given her life for him so he could get his family back, and he was throwing that second chance away. The cost had been too great. 

Wanda could clearly read his thoughts written all over his face and squeezed his hand harder. “Above all else she would want you to be happy, and would be proud of you for taking the needed steps. And trying to fill her shoes on the team as you are doing.”

Clint chuckled a little bitterly and shook his head. “No one can fill her shoes, least of all me.” For five years it had come down to Natasha. The rest of her original team had left her holding the ball, but she never once dropped it. She kept everything going, proved to be the leader he had always known she could be. She deserved to be here now, the official leader of the new wave of Avengers. Clint was a poor substitute in her wake. “But I have to try. Everything she worked for… I have to keep it together. For her.”

“It is why we keep going,” Wanda agreed. “For all of those we have lost.”

Clint studied her for a long moment before smirking half heartedly. “How’d you get so wise? I’m the old guy here, you’re making me look bad.”

Her smile in return was soft and real, like the one he remembered from all those years ago. “You do not need me for that.”

A joke? An actual joke? Despite trying to look wounded, Clint couldn’t help but grin back. He hadn’t just been mourning his family those five years, but Wanda too. Her brother had given his life to save Clint, and there was nothing he could ever do to make it up to her, but he had adopted her into his heart, made her an honorary part of his family, even if he never voiced it. She was so strong, so resilient, but he worried. How much was too much? Everyone had a breaking point, he was a walking example of that. But if she could still joke around he had to believe she hadn’t reached hers yet. She resembled Natasha in that manner. “Ohhhh, I see how it is. Kick me while I’m down. I get it.”

“You make such an easy target,” she replied, and for a moment it was just like old times. Wanda wasn’t much for joking around, she was one of the more stoic members of the team, but Clint seemed to bring out her playful side more than the others. He took pride in that, same as how he had always prided himself in being the one who could make Natasha laugh. Not a polite chuckle, or something soft and breathy, but a full on belly laugh. It had been beautiful, and rare, and he didn’t know another person who could accomplish it. Had been able to accomplish it. Damn it.

“Well if I’m expected to take a beating right now, I might as well risk trying the pancakes here as well. Not sure they’re back up to snuff yet,” Clint said, signalling the waitress. “You in?” Maybe he’d even throw in a side of bacon. It would be the first solid meal he’d had in weeks, and if he ended up with food poisoning it would just be his luck, honestly.

“Why not," she agreed, straightening up as if steeling herself for the inevitable disaster this meal would be.

If only it could always be like this. If only they could forget all the loss and pain and heartache and just enjoy the day, and each other’s company. Talk about banal subjects like the weather, or some stupid tv show. If only the world, or the universe in this case, were a kinder place. No crazies with god complexes trying to rule it or ruin it. Just peace, and happiness, with everyone they loved around to share it.

If only.


	4. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay folks, this is the big one. This is where I try to explain away years of terrible writing and lack of character development for Clint in a way that makes it all make sense. I poured so much into this chapter, and am actually quite proud of it so I hope y'all like it and that it does Clint the justice that the MCU never did. And once again a huge thanks to Cass for being an amazing beta and friend!

Papers were strewn all over the coffee table and sofa, spilling over onto the floor, and amidst all the chaos was Clint, pen twirling absently between his fingers as he scoured the list in his hand. Most of what had been at the base had been destroyed, but Pepper had given Rhodey all of Tony’s files that pertained to the Avengers, and Clint had been making lists all morning. Full-time team members, people that could be called in for extra help, on hand weaponry, intel, finances; anything he thought might be useful in getting the team organized and highly functional again. He wanted to say ‘back to full capacity’, but could they ever be that again after who they had lost? 

_It’s what Natasha would want. What she would do if she was here, _he told himself. It’s what she had spent five years trying to do herself. Five years that he could have been there, helping…

A sudden knock on the door made Clint jump, and he rolled his eyes at himself. The interruption was good, dragging his mind out of the dark place before it could dig itself deep again, but he shouldn’t be this jumpy and easily taken by surprise. That was an easy way to die.

_Would that be so bad? _One last dark thought intruded before he pushed it away. 

The knock sounded again and he remembered he was alone and the door wouldn’t answer itself. Getting to his feet, careful not to disturb his organized mess, he answered the door and greeted Sam with a faint yet genuine smile. “Hey Sam. Or should I call you Cap now?” He teased.

“Sam’s fine,” the new Captain America replied, with the closest thing to ‘sheepish’ as Clint was sure was even possible for him to project. It was definitely going to take some getting used to before the man was comfortable in his new role, and probably longer before he felt at home with the title. If he ever did. Those were some big boots to fill.

“Rhodey’s out, but he should be back soon.” Leaving the door open, Clint stepped aside so Sam could enter, noting how he hesitated when he saw the state of the living room. 

“How’s the whole living arrangement working out for you guys?” He asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Haven’t killed each other yet, I assume, unless that’s why he’s really not here…”

“Would I invite you in if that was the case?” Clint shot back, smiling growing wider. Sam had that effect on people, the ability to lighten them up with only a few words. “Nah, it’s good. I mean, I’m sure he wishes I’d get out of his space sometimes, but… it’s nice.”

He didn’t need to say it, it was clear in the change of Sam’s expression that the man understood. Both Clint and Rhodey had lost their best friend, the one person they had been through hell and back with, the one who just got them. They didn’t talk about it, but that silent understanding was a comfort to both of them, and it was nice not being alone. Sam knew from his own experience losing Riley what that was like.

Since he was up anyway, Clint headed for the kitchen to put on another pot of coffee. He took two clean mugs out of the cupboard despite the three dirty ones that were part of the living room chaos that Sam was currently surveying with a furrowed brow. “Couldn’t imagine why he would want you out…” he said before taking a seat at the island, which was thankfully clutter free. As was the rest of the kitchen, devoid even of dirty dishes. “Please tell me you’ve had more than just coffee today.”

Leaning one hip against the counter and folding his arms, Clint rolled his eyes “Of course. I had…” his voice trailed off. What _had_ he eaten today? Leftover… something? “I ate.”

Sam did not look convinced.

“Just finding a new routine, you know? But I’m getting the hang of it,” Clint continued, but even he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, Sam or himself.

“Look, I know sometimes it feels like you have to deal with these things on your own, but that’s not true,” Sam said in his most kind and understanding tone. “You have friends who care about you and want to help.”

“I’m fine,” Clint pressed, turning away to watch the coffee drip into the carafe. Fine? The only time anyone ever used the word ‘fine’ was when they were anything but. Nobody who was doing well ever said they were fine, and Clint was certainly no exception right now. In all truth, he was a mess.

“Yeah? ‘cause you don’t look fine. This,” Sam gestured to the flood of papers behind him in the living room, “doesn’t look fine.”

Of course he was right, there was no denying it, but Clint didn’t want to admit it aloud. Once he did he couldn’t take it back; once he acknowledged it he had to face it, and then what? What if he couldn’t? 

Pouring the coffee, he busied himself collecting sugar, milk, and spoons; anything to delay looking at Sam, and all the while he felt those concerned eyes watching him. Setting all the items on the counter between them, only when there was no more avoiding it did he meet Sam’s gaze. Still he said nothing.

Sliding one of the mugs closer, Sam added two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of milk. “I’m just trying to help you,” he said softly, the worry evident in his voice. “You’ve been through a lot, and I think you need to talk to someone about it.” His tone wasn’t forceful, nor condescending, his expression devoid of pity. 100% genuine, that was Sam Wilson, and what made him the perfect successor to Steve Rogers. “It doesn’t have to be me, I can recommend someone, but it _can_ be me if you want. Just as long as it happens.”

Clint left his coffee black, and took a sip, considering the words. Lowering the mug, he stared into its dark depths, his brow furrowed. SHIELD had put him through so much after the Battle of New York. Extensive therapy, in depth psyche evaluations; he had experienced actual torture that had been easier to handle than all that, and ultimately he had told them what they had wanted to hear, whatever it took to make it stop so he could go back into the field and deal with things his own way. Except that hadn’t worked either, he hadn’t dealt with anything. In convincing SHIELD and his family that everything was fine, he had started to believe it himself, so he’d never truly worked through his issues, just suppressed them until the snap brought everything back to the surface. “I sorta have… trust issues with that kinda thing. After the whole HYDRA… thing,” he finally spoke. Sam had been there, he had helped reveal the HYDRA disease that had been spreading through SHIELD for years. “After Loki messed with my head, SHIELD put me through so much psychotherapy shit and… I can’t help wondering… was that really SHIELD? Or was it HYDRA?” He scoffed. “Does it even matter?”

He shrugged, and with his head hanging and his shoulders slumped, he looked so small and broken. When Sam spoke again, his voice was gentle and understanding. “Just don’t bottle it up too long, okay? Eventually that tends to explode.”

Clint laughed suddenly, short and bitter. “Been there, done that.” Wasn’t that what this was all about anyway? Just how badly he had exploded? And then everyone had just pretended like it had never happened, like he hadn’t turned into a brutal vigilante, something that went against everything the Avengers stood for. But Sam wasn’t laughing, and Clint levelled his gaze at the other man, trying to read even the subtlest change in expression. “How much did Rhodey tell you? About those five years?”

Sam took a moment to consider his answer, which was answer enough in itself. “He told me what he thought I needed to know, and I dug up news myself on the rest so I could ask him,” he admitted directly and honestly. “Five years is a long time, and with this new responsibility I wanted to know as much as I could about what I missed.”

It would make things easier, the more he knew. Clint wouldn’t have to talk about what he had done, per se, so much as why. They didn’t know, not the full extent of what he’d gone through. They thought it was all about losing his family, but it had been so much more than that. Natasha alone had understood. She always had. “It’s a long story,” he warned, offering a chance to back out.

“I got time,” Sam replied with a smile, and Clint was simultaneously disappointed and relieved. Part of him never wanted to talk about it, wanted to try to wall it up inside him forever, but a larger more rational part knew he had to get it out, had to confide in someone. Not just the worst parts to push someone away, but all of it.

Hopping up on the counter behind him, something he was sure Rhodey would not approve of, Clint rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “You asked for it,” he said with a hollow laugh. Where should he even start? _At the beginning, _he answered himself.

“It wasn’t just the snap,” he started slowly. “This whole thing was building for years, that was just the last straw.” He scratched his nose, fidgeting, unsure what to do with his hands. He had never really been a big talker, at least when it came to stuff that really mattered. If anything, this whole situation had proved that wasn’t a good way to be. How much could have been avoided if he had been different? How many regrets lessened? “Remember the attack on New York?”

“You mean when aliens opened a portal in the sky and invaded?” Sam said, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, I think I remember that.” 

It wasn’t said cruelly, and it won a chuckle out of Clint. “Right.” It was a good ice breaker, and somehow made the beginnings just a little bit easier, and right now every little bit counted. “I didn’t start off on the right side of that fight. One of Loki’s first moves when he got here was to put me under some kind of mind control.” Sam was nodding along, clearly aware of the incident. “That’s when it all started. The things he made me do… the things _I did_… I killed people I’d worked with for years. Friends. I almost killed everyone on that helicarrier, and I couldn’t stop, and after that it was never the same. No amount of therapy or apologies could make everyone forget and treat me like they used to, and I don’t blame them.”

“You weren’t in control,” Sam said quietly but firmly.

“I know. Natasha beat that into my head best she could.” He smiled sadly as he said her name, the very mention of her like tearing wider an already open wound, one he didn’t think would ever heal. “But it was my skills that made it possible.” 

Sam nodded in understanding. Forgive and forget were two very different things, one much easier than the other, and even forgiving wasn’t always easy, or possible. 

Rubbing his hands on his pant legs, Clint considered the coffee beside him but felt his stomach lurch. He already felt queasy, probably a sign that Sam had been right and he hadn’t actually eaten today. Or maybe it was just the topic of conversation. “After that nothing was ever quite the same. It was like the tesseract had rewired my brain or something. The world, _my_ world, seemed too small and I couldn’t quite fit in it anymore. There was so much out there, places and things I hadn’t even dreamed of, and rural farm life just…” he trailed off, a wave of guilt crashing over him. He felt terrible saying it, admitting that this peaceful life that so many people would give anything for just wasn’t enough anymore, but more than that he had felt like this over a decade ago and losing that life and his family for five years hadn’t changed it. It had only made it worse, pushing him farther away from them.

“I ignored it. I just stamped it all down and tried to move on. I did all the therapy SHIELD threw at me, told them what they wanted to hear, and tried to ignore the way my coworkers looked at me, the whispers behind my back… the sometimes unrestrained aggression. I got it, and I didn’t blame them, and finally I was cleared to go back in the field… just in time for HYDRA’s sleeper agents to rise up.” That had been a heavy blow, especially on top of everything else. He had devoted his life to SHIELD, and had been trying so hard to win back the respect and trust of his superiors and fellow agents only to find out half of them were the enemy. “I couldn’t help but question things, you know? Every mission I had been given over the years… how many of them were for SHIELD and how many for HYDRA? How many innocent people had I killed? How much had I helped further their agenda?”

He could see it in Sam’s eyes, the same old song and dance: he couldn’t have known; it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t have to speak the words, but he did anyway. “Nobody knew, Clint, you can’t beat yourself up over that.”

Clint just shook his head. “That’s kinda the point, isn’t it? Even when I wasn’t under mind control I was taking orders from the wrong people. My whole life all I did was what people told me to do, and I was tired of being lied to and manipulated. So I helped the Avengers clear up and dismantle HYDRA best I could and then I retired. People couldn’t keep using me if I wasn’t out there. But then… that was worse. I wasn’t there. I was off pretending I was still happy with that life that didn’t fit me anymore, and I lost even that.”

He was starting to ramble a little, his words less descriptive, making less sense, and he took a moment to breathe. His chest felt heavy the more he spoke, as if the weight of the words had to practically crush him before the burden could be lifted. Damn, he hoped it would be lifted after all this. “I didn’t know what had happened, they were just gone, so I came back here first, to find the others and get the story. But no one was doing anything, and I couldn’t just wait around for some sign, couldn’t handle the looks and the kid gloves and the apologies and… and the guilt that I hadn’t been there. And the _resentment…”_

Despite being glad that his friends had survived, the bitterness had been too strong to ignore. They had left him out. A world ending threat and they just hadn’t bothered to call him. It was a hard pill to swallow.

“So I told them I needed a break, and I holed up somewhere for a while, but then they went after Thanos without me. Twice they didn’t even call me, I was that insignificant, that useless on the team, and the second time they took away my revenge. I tried to suck it up and go back, tried to be part of a team that didn’t want me, but one by one they left and what good was I? No Iron Man, no Hulk, no Thor… what the hell good was Hawkeye? There were too many restrictions and regulations so I couldn’t even do what I was trained to and… I was just so angry. Angry at them, at myself, at the world. So I left her-“ his voice cut off abruptly, and he swallowed hard but it did nothing to move the lump in his throat that threatened to choke off his words completely. “I left _them _and I tried to drown it all in whatever vices I could find.”

Absently Clint rubbed his arm, the one dark with inked designs. He could grow out his hair but the tattoos were with him forever now, a reminder he didn’t need of a time he wished he could forget. Realizing what he was doing, he quickly dropped his hand and reached for the coffee mug instead, taking a sip and cringing. It had gone too cold for his liking. Everything was too cold lately.

“Clint, you’re not useless. They-“ Sam eventually broke the extended silence, but Clint cut him off.

“Sam, don’t. Please.” He turned pleading eyes on his friend. While he had taken the house arrest deal, Sam had been with Natasha, still fighting the good fight at her side. Where Clint should have been the whole time. Had Sam been around these five years he probably would have stayed with her too.

Silence reigned again, and it took a moment for Clint to collect himself once more. He thought of stopping, just leaving it at that, but he had come this far and if he stopped now he might never get through this. He had to get it over with, because if he didn’t he wasn’t sure he could ever truly move forward.

“I dunno how long that lasted, time didn’t really mean anything. It all just sort of bled together,” he continued, his voice even and steady once more. “Then one night I was walking back to the shithole I was staying in when I heard screaming. I found a woman being attacked and I tried to stop the man, but he had a knife and I ended up killing him.” He hadn’t felt guilty then, and he didn’t now, but it had felt different. _He _had killed that man; not Agent Barton, not Hawkeye, not Loki’s minion; just Clint the civilian, under orders of no one. “She was so grateful, I…” Shaking his head, he scratched at the shaved parts where his hair was growing in again. “She told me how dangerous things had gotten around there. The police couldn’t really do anything, their numbers had been reduced too much while crime just seemed to be going up. It wasn’t safe anymore, she told me things that made me sick and it just seemed to click. Thanos had been indiscriminate when he had wiped out half the population. He could have made the world peaceful, wiped out only the bad people and kept the good, but some of the biggest scum on the earth got to live while good people didn’t. My family, Wanda, you… why should you be taken but evil gets to survive?” Clint looked at Sam then, holding his gaze for a long moment and reading only encouragement there he pressed on. “Innocent people still needed protection and I needed a purpose. The police couldn’t help, the legal system wouldn’t, the Avengers were bound by laws and regulations, but for the first time in my life I wasn’t going to let anyone control me. I killed for SHIELD, for Loki, for the Avengers, but this time I was calling the shots. The best call I ever made in my life was the one time I disobeyed orders, and it was time to make my own judgements, but I… I took it too far.”

Clint looked away again, but not quick enough to hide the complete and utter sadness in his eyes. The one time he had disobeyed orders he had made the call to recruit Natasha rather than kill her, and it had been the best thing he had ever done, the one thing he had never regretted, the one thing that had made his life better in every possible way. But what he had done this time went against everything she had stood for. She spent so many years trying to atone for her sins, to be better, to do good, and when he made the choice again to call his own shots he had been wrong, so wrong. “I started on home soil. Clean up your own backyard first, right?” He chuckled sardonically. “Rapists, pedophiles, neo Nazis; I put a target on all of them, but it wasn’t enough. The world was full of these bastards. Human traffickers, drug cartels. Just killing them was too good too, arrows were too clean, too impersonal, not to mention a tell tale calling card. I took on another persona, and I made them suffer. And it was wrong, I knew it was wrong, but it was the only thing that made me feel alive, the only thing that kept me going.”

His cheeks were wet; he hadn’t even noticed he was crying. Wiping the heels of his hands over them roughly, Clint took a deep, shaky breath. “I kept in contact with her for a while,” he said, voice soft, barely more than a whisper. He didn’t need to say her name, it was obvious who he meant. “She practically begged me to come back, but I… I was ashamed of everything I had done, especially when she was doing everything so _right_. I couldn’t go back, couldn’t face her, and the worse I got… eventually I cut off contact completely. It wasn’t like I could keep her from knowing what I was up to, she always knew. But I didn’t have to hear it in her voice anymore, didn’t have to hear…”

He couldn’t choke out the words anymore, and his face crumpled. Burying his face in the crook of his arm and drawing one knee up to his chest, he heard Sam get to his feet but waved him off, not ready for the comfort of contact, not now. He was too disgusted with himself, reliving all he had done, to let anyone touch him, especially someone as good as Sam. He was too ashamed, too broken, too regretful. But it was over, it was out there, and he did feel lighter. Despite everything he was glad he’d talked, glad he didn’t have to put on a mask anymore. 

Sam had moved around the island and stood nearby, but he gave Clint the space he needed, and the time. He let him cry, let him breathe, let him go through it at his own pace. Only when his breathing started to regulate again and he dropped his arm to wipe his tears did Sam speak. “Thank you for confiding in me,” he said. He knew the gritty details, had read what reports he could find, and had gotten what he could out of Rhodey. It was never the actions he was interested in, but the motivations behind them, and now he had that. “Clint…” he prompted, noting how the other man refused to look at him now. He was clearly afraid of what he might see if he did. “You’re not a bad person,” Sam continued anyhow. “You’ve done bad things, I’m not going to patronize you and tell you you haven’t, but I understand why. You were always trying to help people. I might have done the same.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Clint sniffed, sounding small and almost childlike.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Sam agreed with a chuckle. “But I get it. We both stood with Steve when he went against the authorities. Sometimes someone has to stand up and do what’s necessary.”

When Clint finally looked at Sam he saw no judgement in his eyes. No disgust, no loathing. The relief was immense, but the guilt still lingered. “But was it? Necessary?”

“Maybe not to me, not to the cops, but that woman you saved? The people who can sleep easily at night now for the first time in their lives?”

Clint’s brow furrowed as he thought this over. He noticed Sam fish his phone out of his pocket and presumably send off a quick text, but thought nothing of it. It wasn’t like Clint needed his full attention now while he considered these words. It had always been the underlying motivation of it all, hadn’t it? Sure, there had been selfish reasons for his actions, he would never deny that, but through it all he had wanted to help people too. He had taken it too far, but to the people who were now safe because of it maybe there was no such thing as ‘too far’. He wanted to believe that, at least, and maybe in part he could. His actions had been wrong, but the results had been appreciated; he still had a lot to atone for, but maybe he wasn’t beyond redemption. Natasha would be the first to tell him there wasn’t too much red in his ledger that he couldn’t wipe it out. He just wasn’t sure how to even begin to do it without her.

“Thanks, Sam,” Clint said after a long silence, meeting the other man’s eyes again. “Just.. Thank you. For… you know.”

And Sam did know. He had given Clint a safe space to open up, had listened with a non-judgemental ear, and had never tried to tell him how he should or shouldn’t feel. It was exactly what Clint had needed; the only way he had any chance of moving forward was if he could finally deal with and accept what he was leaving behind. “You’ve got a good heart, Clint.”

_“_**_You have heart._**_” _No matter how much time passed, those words always came back to haunt him. That had been the beginning of his downfall, the last words he had ever heard before everything changed. _You have heart _and his world had gone black, shifting, changing, expanding beyond anything he could have ever imagined. _You have heart_ and suddenly his family, his life, was no longer enough; there was a whole universe out there to explore and save… or destroy. _You have heart._

“Unfortunately that’s what seems to get me into most of these messes,” he said with a weak smile, accepting the comforting hand on his shoulder when Sam offered this time.

“It’s always easier to prey on those who care than those that don’t,” Sam said. “Don’t ever think of it as a weakness, okay? Your heart is your biggest strength.” 

Clint smiled and squeezed Sam’s hand on his shoulder in acceptance, a finality in the gesture that coincided well with the sudden jangle of keys outside the door. The moment broken, Clint quickly jumped down off the counter, turning his back so he could try to wipe away any remnants of his earlier breakdown. He couldn’t hide his red and puffy eyes, of course, but when Rhodey walked in and greeted the two of them he didn’t seem to even take notice. Or perhaps he just wasn’t surprised.

“Hey, Sam, nice to see you,” he said, though he didn’t seem surprised at Sam’s presence either, and as the two men shared a look, Clint started to wonder if Sam’s visit in Rhodey’s absence hadn’t been strategically planned.

“You too, buddy. We were just catching up,” Sam replied, stepping aside so Rhodey could place the two large paper bags he carried on the island. Something distinctly green and leafy protruded form the top of the bag and Clint eyed it suspiciously.

“What’s in there?” He asked, curling up his nose slightly.

“They’re called vegetables. They’re good for you, and you look like you haven’t eaten any for weeks,” Rhodey replied, quickly adding, “And no, pizza toppings don’t count,” when Clint started to defend himself. 

“Aw, come on. It’s not like I’m gonna get scurvy or anything…” he protested, before a look of concern pinched his brows. “Wait, do people still get scurvy?"

“Let’s not find out,” was the only answer he received, and Clint’s brow furrowed deeper.

After removing his coat and settling in, Rhodey unpacked the groceries and started prepping to cook. Clint fell into line behind him, washing what needed to be washed and chopping what needed to be chopped; anything to keep his hands busy. Sam reclaimed his spot on the opposite side of the island and out of the way, claiming he would help them more by contributing conversation rather than culinary skills. 

To Clint it felt good just doing something normal, and although they didn’t talk any further about everything he had confessed, it didn’t feel like they were ignoring it nor purposefully avoiding the topic. It was out there now, and it had been accepted, _he _had been accepted. No disgust, no judgement, just understanding and friendship. 

And a pretty awesome dinner.


	5. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has an epiphany, and we reach the end of Act I.

It had been three weeks since Clint had completely uprooted his whole life and tried to start over, and one week since he’d opened up to Sam about the years of trauma that had led to his decision. Things had been better since that talk; not good, not yet, but better. At least the days were. 

He spent his days at what was left of the old base, sifting through the rubble and salvaging anything useful. There were excavators and dump trucks on site ready to clear away the debris after they finished with each area, but sometimes Clint lingered, sorting metal from stone and throwing what rocks he could lift into the trucks by hand. The manual labour felt good, but even he knew it was yet another vice, just like his tattoos, the most recent of which was only a couple of weeks old and still a bit itchy under his shirt. He was more settled now in his place on the team, more accepting of the kindness and support of his friends, but the guilt and loss still haunted him, especially in the darkness and silence of the night when exhaustion overtook him.

Every night he dreamt of her. Every night it was the same. He clung to her so tightly, pleaded with her not to let go, and sometimes it played out exactly as it had, a memory more than a dream. A nightmare. Always a nightmare, even in reality. She told him it was okay, to let her go, and she smiled so peacefully as she forced him to release her. He woke up crying, the image of her broken body burned into his brain. Other nights it was worse. Other nights she sneered at him and blamed him: for her death, for leaving his family, for making her sacrifice worth nothing.

For being worth nothing.

Useless. Worthless. Why had he lived while she died?

These were the nights he woke up in a cold sweat, heart hammering in his chest, each gasp for breath excruciating. It always took time to calm down again, to remind himself it was his own self loathing talking, not Natasha. No matter how much he might hate himself for what had happened, he knew the nightmares were false. He lived because it was what she wanted, because she loved him, and if there was any truth in the world that he was sure of it was that.

Last night had been one of those nights, and Clint was particularly weary and irritable as he trudged through an unexplored corner of the wreckage. Toeing another rock away, he shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. Why were they even bothering? Why did they ask Strange to put a protective dome over the remains of the place instead of just levelling the whole thing and rebuilding? Or better yet, leave it to the vultures and start fresh elsewhere? But Clint couldn't do that. There were things here that maybe they could salvage; documents, tech, weapons…

Nah, that wasn’t it at all. It was the personal stuff here that nobody was ready to let go, that short time they had all been together preparing their ‘time heist’, and for Clint it was the plain and simple fact that this had been Natasha’s home. For five years she had lived here, calling the shots, doing everything she could to make the world better. Five years alone when he should have been with her.

Taking a few more steps through the rubble, something caught his eye. Crouching down, he threw aside a few rocks, and his breath caught in his throat. The once pristine white satin was singed and dirty, but there was no mistaking what he was looking at.

It was a single ballet slipper. 

He had seen her dance once, back in their S.H.I.E.L.D. days, so many years ago now. He had walked into one of the smaller and lesser used training rooms, expecting to find her making use of the punching bag, but what he saw instead took his breath away. She was graceful on the battlefield, dodging and parrying like no other, but this was something else. The lines of her body curved, fluid, almost inhuman in their perfection. Not a single misstep, no outward indication of strain or fatigue. Grace and beauty personified, delicate movements masking deadly power and accuracy. 

Transfixed he had stood, heart racing, lungs aching as he was afraid to breathe, to move, to alert her to his presence for fear she would stop. It was the last thing he wanted, in that moment he couldn’t bear the thought even as he knew, in the back of his mind, this was dangerous. It was too personal, too private, too raw. He was captivated, like a sailor struck by the siren’s song.

Then the music ended and the spell was broken. She nodded once to herself and left the room through the opposite door. He never saw her dance again, and as much as he tried to talk himself out of it, he was sure she knew. She knew he had been watching her, knew the effect it had on him, and allowed that one moment, that one dance, never to be repeated nor acknowledged. 

That was probably the moment he had fallen in love with her. He had pushed it down, never let himself recognize it nor accept it, had remained faithful, never faltered, but forever more his heart had been secretly divided. Unless she had known _that_ all along too. Now he would never know.

It wasn’t until he heard the metallic clunk of War Machine landing nearby that Clint realized he had been crying, down on his knees in the dirt, the slipper clutched to his chest. He didn’t remember falling, didn’t remember crying as the memory swept over him, but there he was. _Pull yourself together!_ Getting quickly to his feet, he rubbed his arm across his eyes and brushed the dirt from his knees, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“The Northwest quadrant is ready to be cleared, nothing left to be found there,” Rhodey said, faceplate sliding up to reveal concerned eyes in an otherwise neutral face. “Find something?”

Clint’s first instinct was to hide the slipper behind his back, to keep it selfishly to himself, but he quickly brushed it off as absurd. She had never been his to keep, and besides, if anyone deserved to know it was Rhodey, who had been there with her through it all. “It’s Natasha’s,” he said, holding his hand out and loosening his fingers so the slipper sat visible on his palm.

“I didn’t know she danced,” Rhodey said quietly, after a long moment of silence as he observed the object, the neutral expression melting into sadness that Clint felt to his core. 

“Most people didn’t,” he replied. 

The concern was back as Rhodey met his eyes again. “Clint, if this is too hard…”

“Nah, I’m fine,” he lied. ‘Fine’ is something he hadn’t been for so many years he couldn’t remember what it felt like, and while his breakthrough had helped it couldn’t fix everything, not that easily. He couldn’t be open all the time, couldn’t just flip a switch and make that his default after a lifetime of bottling everything up.

“You’ve been working really hard lately, maybe you should take a little break and-“

“I said it’s fine,” Clint snapped before looking immediately apologetic. “Sorry. Didn’t really sleep good last night.”

Rhodey looked momentarily surprised but got over it quickly. “It’s okay, I get it,” he said. “Some days I just want to fight the whole world too.”

If anyone understood what Clint was feeling it was Rhodey. He was so resilient and put together while Clint was constantly on the verge of falling apart; it made it easy for Clint to forget he wasn’t the only one who had lost his best friend.

“You ever wonder when it’s gonna get better?” He asked, searching the other man’s face. “Or if you’re just gonna miss him every damn day of your life?”

“Oh, I know I will, but I also know it’ll get better. They can both be true,” Rhodey replied. “There will always be a hole in your life where she’s supposed to fit, but you can’t let yourself fall into it.”

Clint knew it was true, everything Rhodey said, but he didn’t know how to prevent it. He felt like a part of him was missing, the best part, the part that made this godforsaken world worth living in. Now he was supposed to keep going when everything was darker, duller, colder. Looking down at the slipper in his hand, he stroked his thumb reverently over it, wincing as his rough and calloused finger caught on the smooth and silky material. It felt like a metaphor for the people they had always been.

Silence seemed to stretch out forever before he finally spoke again. “This was her home. For five years she did everything she could to hold all of this together, and I have to pick it up and keep going. For her.” Swallowing hard, Clint looked up at Rhodey, his expression a mix of gratitude and regret. And sadness. Always sadness. “Thanks for being here, man. All those years. Helping her…”

“Clint, don’t-“ Rhodey tried to head him off, but was abruptly interrupted himself.

“You were there when I wasn’t, when nobody else was,” Clint pushed on forcefully, needing Rhodey to know how much it meant that he’d been here, and needing to just… to just talk instead of starting to cork up another bottle of his feelings after he’d done so well opening up recently. “I’m only a couple of weeks in and I’m ready to tear all their heads off.”

Rhodey let out a light chuckle, taking the last bit as Clint’s dry humour. “It’s not going to be easy, but it will get better."

“Yeah? When, ‘cause this is just ridiculous man.” Shaking his head, Clint ran his free hand back through his hair. “Everyone’s scattered around, Bruce is a media circus, I’m not sure if Sam and Barnes are gonna work together or kill each other, and Wanda is maybe even more fucked up than I am…”. He was working into a full on rant, but it felt good to get it out, to voice his frustrations. It was none of their faults, not really, but it was either this or bottle it up until he exploded again, and nobody wanted that. “Would be great if Thor hadn’t gone off to play space cowboy, or if Cap hadn’t decided _‘_**_you know what? Fuck the 21st century, I’m just gonna return the stones and go live in the past ‘cause as long as those god damn stones are back then nothing changes-“_**

Clint cut off abruptly, eyes going wide.

The change was so sudden it left Rhodey reeling. “What?”

“The stones!” Clint exclaimed, his face practically lighting up. “Obi-Wan McFloaty said you couldn’t use the stone to get the soul back, that it was permanent, but nothing changes the past.”

His expression was clear, excited, but Rhodey just looked confused, and more than a little concerned. “I’m not following,” he said cautiously.

“As long as we still get the stones and return them where we got them from, nothing should change. It’s a loophole,” Clint explained as patiently as he could, and with something akin to pride in his stance as he stood up a little straighter, the defeat that had left his shoulders almost permanently slumped vanishing.

It all sounded like nonsense, but this was the most animated Rhodey had seen Clint since this whole mess had started so he tried to figure out what he was getting at. He was talking about the soul stone, and a loophole, and slowly realization dawned. Rhodey’s face became awash in sympathy. “Clint, I know it’s hard to let go, believe me if I could get them back I would do anything…” Clint was already shaking his head, but Rhodey pressed on. “We don’t know what would happen, the stones can’t be trifled with. What if we create another universe where Thanos is never defeated? We have to be responsible.”

Clint let him finish though he clearly wasn’t listening anymore. His mind was running over the logistics of his idea, and fleshing it all out. He couldn’t even be angry at Rhodey’s dismissal, because he was just too damn sure he’d solved everything. “Exactly,” he said grinning, already turning away and heading for his truck. “As long as we still get the stone everything should be fine.”

Rhodey could only watch him go, worried and confused, and hope he wasn’t going to return home to a bunch of stick pins in his wall with red thread connecting all the dots.

Luckily, that wasn’t what he found. What _was_ waiting for him was a note beneath the single tattered ballet slipper.

**GONE SOUL SEARCHING. DON’T WAIT UP.**

“You cheeky bastard,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I like to call this the end of Act I as we now move on to the next phase, and something perhaps even a bit less depressing lol. Hope you're as excited for it as I am! And once again I wanna thank Cass for being my knight in shining armour. I couldn't do this without you!


	6. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint lays out his plan to the only people who can help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we come to Act II! Less depression, more Hope, which is exactly what we need right about now, eh? Sorry for the long wait between chapters, this whole isolation thing is doing a number on my creativity, but I have a few more saved up yet so we'll get through this! So much love and gratitude to everyone who is commenting on and supporting this fic! It truly is a labour of love for me.

Why hadn’t he thought of this before? How had he been so stupid? Now that the seeds of the idea had planted themselves in Clint’s mind it just seemed so obvious, but he had been overcome with grief and so focused on the fact that he couldn’t use the stones to bring Natasha back that he hadn’t even considered the alternatives. But there were alternatives… there was _one_ alternative, at least. He could get her back.

He just needed a little help to make it work.

This is how Clint Barton found himself stepping out of a cab on a residential street in San Francisco with nothing but a hastily packed knapsack on his shoulder and a heart full of hope. 

Hesitating at the curb, he looked up at the house, emotions ranging from excitement to trepidation, and everywhere in between. He was so sure this would work - he had to believe it would - but to get the people he needed on board he had to be convincing. He had to describe everything just right, have an answer for every question. He couldn’t leave any room for doubt.

Taking a deep breath, Clint strode up the steps and knocked on the door. He wasn’t kept waiting long before it opened and a surprised Scott Lang stood staring back at him. 

“Hey, buddy, did I miss a message?” Scott said, looking Clint over then searching behind him for any other Avengers. Clearly he was more than a little confused. “What brings you out here?”

“Sorry, I forgot to call ahead,” Clint replied, looking a little sheepish. The thought honestly hadn’t even crossed his mind, but then he’d been unable to think of anything but his plan and the possibility of seeing Natasha again since that morning. Man, had it only been that very morning that the idea had come to him? He had gone straight back to Rhodey’s place, grabbed his passport and enough clothes for a few days, and driven straight to the airport, jumping on the first flight to San Francisco he could find. He really should have called. He also should have used some of his six plus hour flight to figure out what to say when he knocked on Scott’s door, but again he hadn’t, so he ended up opening with the ominous, “I need your help.”

“Oh, official Avengers business?” Scott said as if that was the most normal thing in the world. It was what made the most sense, at least, though why Clint would show up here instead of just calling was still a little baffling. Maybe there was a bad guy loose in San Francisco, and the others were there fighting right now! Or maybe the Avengers had just never been a very well organized team, if he was completely honest. “Let’s go grab Hope, no way she’s letting me run off without her again.”

Scott was already turning around to lead Clint into the house when the archer spoke again. “Actually, yeah, I need her help too, but it’s not really official…”

Scott stopped and turned back to look a little closer at Clint, eying the backpack slung over the man’s shoulder. Scott scratched his chin. “Going rogue again? I should tell you we’re not really into the whole killing people thing, though being a ninja would be pretty badass.”

Okay, he had probably deserved that, and even though he knew Scott didn’t mean it as any sort of shot against him it still stung. “No, I, um… I need your help to get Natasha back.” Clint rushed the words out, unsure of any way to really ease into it. It had the desired effect and Scott just stared at him for a moment like he was crazy, before stepping back and gesturing Clint inside.

“You better come in,” he said, and Clint did as instructed, feeling Scott’s eyes on him the whole way.

>>>————->

“…So as long as we still get the stone, and it still gets replaced, then there should be no consequences. She’s already wearing the suit, so I just grab her and bring her back.”

Scott and Hope sat side by side on the sofa staring up at Clint as he finished telling them his theory. He was too hyped up to sit, and was practically vibrating as he looked between them expectantly. There was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence broken finally by a simple question from Scott. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know,” Clint replied honestly, gaze shifting back and forth between Scott and Hope.

“How much coffee have you had today?” Scott continued his line of questioning.

“I don’t know,” Clint huffed, rolling his eyes. “Look, that’s not important. It’ll work, right?” His tone was hurried, insistent… desperate. It _had_ to work.

Hope regarded him for a long moment, seemingly assessing his mental state and how best to respond. “Clint…” she said carefully, keeping her eyes fixed steadily on his. “You said so yourself: you would still have to achieve the stone. ‘_A soul for a soul’_,” she quoted, as if explaining to an upset child.

“I know,” he replied, shrugging in agitation and continuing as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “I just die instead."

“What?!” Scott was instantly on his feet. “No. No, no, no,” he protested, shaking his head and waving his hands in front of himself. “Look, I know you miss her, she seemed like a really cool person after I got over her trying to kick my ass at that airport, but I’m not going to help you go kill yourself for her.”

Clint held his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “I’m not killing myself,” he said. “I’m just letting the other me die.” 

He said it so simply, like it made the most perfect and obvious sense. Silence fell over them, thick and heavy, only broken when Scott plopped back down onto the sofa as ungracefully as possible.

“Explain.” One single word, but the weight Hope put behind it left no room for misinterpretation. She sounded one step away from calling in professional help, for his mental health not the situation he was presenting them with.

Clint shook himself, realizing that his internal pep talk on the way here hadn’t helped and he’d managed to explain the whole thing terribly. Maybe there was something to that 'lack of sleep,' and 'excessive coffee,' thing. Shit, he was losing it. Not now, he couldn’t fail now, couldn’t fail _her_, not again. This could work, he knew it could work, he just had to make them understand. For Natasha. “Okay, here it is.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He couldn’t let his desperation own him, he had to be logical and concise. “While everyone was fighting Thanos and his army, I was trying to protect the gauntlet and keep his minions from getting it.” He began, slow and deliberate. “Nebula showed up, but it wasn’t _our_ Nebula, it was the one from 2014 that came with Thanos.” He paused, making sure they were with him so far. There were no protests, so he continued. “Then our Nebula appeared and killed the other one right in front of me. She killed her past self and nothing happened, she was fine.”

He could see the puzzle pieces fitting into place for Hope as she leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees and fingers steepled against her lips. She was no longer looking at him like he was crazy, her eyes unfocused as she contemplated this information. Scott, on the other hand, was intently waiting for Clint to continue and spell it all out. Convincing, right. He had to give them everything. “Thanos and his whole army were from 2014, right? But we wiped them all out and nothing changed. The snap still happened even though he should have been dead.” He was winning them over, he was sure of it. He had to keep going. “And Steve! Steve went to return the stones, right? But he didn’t just return them, he went back to the forties and stayed there, lived a whole different life, but it changed nothing. _Nothing changed.” _He emphasized the words heavily, pausing only briefly. “It was just like Bruce said, as long as the stones got put back in their original timeline where we took them from then nothing changes. No weird time anomalies, no alternate universes, just… nothing.”

Nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Time to bring it all home.

“On Vormir… Natasha… she stopped me from dying and sacrificed herself instead.” Clint’s eyes grew wet just saying it, and he felt that familiar lump in his throat, but now wasn’t the time to break down. He swallowed hard and pushed on. “So I go back in time to that moment, and I stop her from saving me. She lives, the past me dies. She gets the stone instead. We still achieve the stone, it still gets returned, and I bring her back with me.”

That was it, the whole story. He’d made it through, somehow he’d managed to explain it without breaking, managed in a way that sounded logical, instead of just the crazy ideas of a grieving man. And now that it was out there, now that he’d described it all out loud… he felt the first inkling of doubt setting in. What if they told him it wouldn’t work? What if they refused to help? He couldn’t do this alone, he was no scientist, he had no idea how to run the equipment even if he could get access to it. He needed them to help him, but more than that, in this moment, he needed them to _believe_ him. He needed them to tell him he hadn’t just travelled thousands of miles only to be told he had to let her go all over again. 

For a long moment there was silence and Clint felt every muscle in his body tense as he waited, then Scott let out a loud breath of air. Slumping back against the sofa, he looked completely mind blown. “Wow. That’s a lot to unpack.”

Well, that was helpful. Leaving Scott to put his brain back together, Clint turned his gaze to the one other person in the room. She remained quiet, unmoving. “Hope?” Such a fitting name considering it was exactly what he was asking her to give him.

Lowering her hands and sitting up straighter, she nodded slowly to herself before speaking. “It sounds possible,” she finally said and Clint whooped loudly, pumping his fist in the air in pure elation. “I would need to talk to my parents, and run some simulations, but… I think it could work.”

It could work. She said it could work. He had been so sure of himself, so ready to argue any way he had to to get them to agree to at least let him try, but hearing her confirm it left him suddenly overwhelmed. Lacing his fingers together on top of his head he tried to catch his breath, tried to keep from yelling or jumping on the furniture or anything to let out the pure adrenaline that suddenly coursed through him. It was then, with Hope looking pensive, Scott looking stunned, and Clint like he was about to jump out of his own skin, that the door opened and a strange voice cut the silence in the room

“…so I said ‘**Sure, we go like way back, like 'our time in prison,' way back!’ **And she flips on him, all ‘**what you mean prison? You told me you were on some secret mission!” **And he’s like **‘come on, girl! You know I-“**

“Clint?” Trailing behind the man Clint didn’t recognize, his large frame filling the doorway and a case of beer tucked under his left arm, the other hanging limply at his side, was none other than Bruce Banner. The tension of the scene they’d walked into seemed lost on him as his face lit up in a huge grin. Setting the beer on the nearest surface he lumbered forward and wrapped his arm around Clint, pulling him into a tight hug. “What are you doing here?””

Clint mumbled something intelligible against Bruce’s barrel of a chest, barely able to breathe let alone speak. He was released with a sheepish smile and a quiet ‘sorry’. “So this is where you’ve been hiding out, huh? That’s perfect, actually.”

It was a weird thing to say and Bruce gave him an odd look. Of course it was nice to have your presence wanted around, but he finally took in the expressions on the other faces in the room. This wasn’t just Clint needing to escape for a bit after everything that had happened, there was clearly more to it. Something wasn’t right. “What’s going on? What brings you here?”

Clint grinned at him, and the obvious exhaustion and caffeine buzz he was experiencing gave it an almost manic look. Soon, though, he spoke, and everything else was forgotten.

“We’re getting Natasha back.”


	7. Part 6

The heat outside was stifling but Clint barely felt it. He stared off into the distance, chewing at the skin around his fingernails until he tasted blood, and wishing that he had taken up smoking. That was supposed to calm your nerves, right? He could really use some of that right now.

Inside the lab all the scientists were working away, and he was out here, being completely and utterly useless. In fact, he was only out here because Janet Van Dyne had so kindly asked him to leave as he was doing nothing but getting in the way and distracting everyone, which was worse than being useless.

He had been here two days now. Two days of sitting on his hands while the smart people in the room ran their diagnostics, tweaked their machines, and tried to prepare for every possible problem that could occur. He knew it had to be done, that if there was any risk he could fuck everything up they had to minimize it, but the wait was driving him insane. He just wanted to get to it, to do what he had to do and get Natasha back.

“Patience is a virtue,” he said to himself, and rolled his eyes. Once upon a time he could sit for hours up in some perch somewhere without a hint of agitation. Survey the area, watch the target, pick up the intel; it had been routine. He was a different person now, someone who had seen too much and needed to keep moving, be active, accomplish something. In the silence, the downtime, there was nothing to do but think, and being alone with his thoughts was the last thing Clint wanted lately. 

The door beside him opened and Bruce stepped out. He looked tired but hopeful, so that was something at least. “How’s it going in there?” Clint asked him, pushing away from the wall where he’d been leaning. Only then did he notice the heat, his t-shirt sticking to his skin in a very annoying manner. Honestly, every little thing felt annoying right now.

“We have a few more simulations to run, but it’s looking good for tomorrow to be the day,” Bruce replied. 

Tomorrow. How did it feel simultaneously so close yet so far away? By this time tomorrow Natasha could… _would_ be back and life would make sense again. These last few weeks… hell, the past few _years_ wouldn’t matter. He would make it all up to her, help her run the team, be there with her through everything like he always should have been.

When Clint didn’t speak, Bruce seemed to misunderstand his silence. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Bruce asked, his expression soft, caring. 

“What?” Clint asked, taken aback by the words. What was Bruce even suggesting? That he just _give up_ and _forget_ about the whole thing? Leave Natasha to the fate she didn’t deserve knowing full well he could reverse it? Oh no, no way was he turning back now. They were so close, he was not backing down, not now, not ever. 

“I mean it doesn’t have to be you,” Bruce explained. “If you don’t want to go back there, to the place where she…died. I can go instead. Or Scott. You don’t have to face that again.”

Being so caught up in everything, and considering how long Clint had known Natasha, it was easy to forget that he wasn’t the only one who cared about her. He still thought Laura was full of shit when she had claimed Bruce and Natasha had something going on, Nat had certainly never mentioned it or given any indication to Clint about it, but Bruce obviously cared about her. He was part of her family, and he had lost her too. Clint had to remember that.

“Appreciate it, but it’s gotta be me,” he said, reaching up to give Bruce’s broad shoulder an understanding pat. “I remember everything about that moment. It’s etched in my brain, every second of it.” He dropped his hand to his side and looked out into the distance again. “I’ve run it over and over again in my mind, trying to figure out what I could have done differently, how I could have changed the outcome.” He let out a sudden dry chuckle. “I just keep coming up with the same answer. Fact is, she was just always better than me.” His haunted eyes shone with both pride and sadness when he fixed them on Bruce again. “I remember every detail, so I know the exact moment I need to grab her for this thing to work. So it’s gotta be me.”

That was all true, of course. Nobody else could pull this off, they needed his knowledge, his memory of the incident. Everything had to be timed just perfectly. Beneath the surface, though, it ran much deeper. It had to be him for logistic reasons, but also there was no way he was trusting this to anyone else. It meant too much; it meant _everything. _It wasn’t often life handed over a chance at a do-over, and he was not going to mess it up.

“I tried to bring her back myself. With the snap,” Bruce admitted after a long moment. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this.”

“Hey, nobody did. Everything we knew about… well, everything, tells us it’s not possible. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it sooner, but at the same time I probably _never_ should have thought about it, you know?”

“I feel like that’s how a lot of the best things get invented,” Bruce replied, thinking of various scientific and medical breakthroughs, like penicillin.

Clint’s mind, though, took a different path. “Like beer.” 

It was so unexpected that Bruce let out a loud laugh, surprised and completely unchecked. That was all it took. Whether it was the stress, the exhaustion, the emotional rollercoaster he couldn’t seem to get off of, or something else; that was all it took to launch Clint into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. He couldn’t stop, even when the tears rolled down his cheeks and his lungs ached. Not even when Luis drove up and hopped out of his car, looking positively thrilled at the prospect that people were happy and therefore everything had to be going well. That, and here he was hanging out with two of the original Avengers!

“What I miss? What’s the joke?” He asked, looking from one laughing Avenger to the other.

“Oh, just life,” Clint choked out, wiping his cheeks and slowly getting himself under control.

“I get that, man. It’s crazy, right? Like my cousin, he’s got this friend, and he was married and had a baby on the way, like his wife was about to pop, you know? All that normal life business.” This seemed completely out of the blue, and both Clint and Bruce were unsure where this sudden story was going so they just stared at Luis silently until he continued, their laughter ebbing away. They didn’t wait long. “So then the blip happens, and poof! Wife just disappears. Baby too, ‘cause that would’ve been weird, right?”

Bruce winced and glanced over at Clint, figuring this might hit a little too close to home. Clint’s laughter had faded but his mood didn’t seem to falter beyond a brief grimace. He had lived through it, but right now, after everything he’d gone through since, it felt like ancient history. He gave Bruce an almost imperceptible nod to let him know it was okay.

Luis, for his part, was completely oblivious to this little exchange. “So it’s five years later and the guy’s got a new wife, and now _this_ one’s about to pop too, and then _you_ guys,” he did a double finger point at them and grinned, “reversed the thing and suddenly his first wife is back! Right there! So he’s got two pregnant wives in his living room, and you just know that ain’t gonna fly.”

Clint often wondered what it was like for the people that had moved on. What life _would_ have been like if he had stuck around and done the same. Thankfully Luis made it impossible to dwell on that thought this time, as he barely paused his story long enough to take a breath.

“The first wife is all ‘**who is this hussy!’ **And he’s like **‘this is my wife,’** and his new wife is like **‘and who are _you_’ **and the first wife says **_‘I _am his wife! And _this_ is his baby!’** And the second one’s all **‘Well _this_ is his baby _too_!’ **And the first one’s like **“Nuh uh, for real?”** And the guy has to like jump in there and explain how he thought she was dead, but now she’s not, so they, like, watch the news or something and find out everyone's alive again. So now, he’s like married to both of them, and he still loves them both, and they’re both having his babies, and they both love him, so get this… they decide to all live together as one family, yo!”

Clint had no idea what he should have expected from this story, or what to expect from it now, but the one thing he did know was that Luis had his full and rapt attention. Bruce’s too, by one quick glance at his expression. They were both completely invested now, and Luis was entirely in his element.

“So they give it a try, and the dude is like living his best life. He gets to go to work, then go home to his two hot wives, and they’re splitting up all the chores with the babies and everything so he doesn’t even have to lift a finger. Pretty sweet, right?”

Clint and Bruce exchanged another look and the former shrugged one shoulder. Despite having kids he hadn’t been around much to take care of them either, so he certainly couldn’t judge.

“And he’s like milking it, you know? And telling all his buddies how the blip was the best thing that ever happened to him, all **‘Yo, the blip is the best thing that ever happened to me. I can do whatever I want, and they treat me like a king ‘cause they’re scared I’m gonna pick one of them,’ **and his buddies are like **‘for real?’** And he’s like **‘yeah!’**, but back at home his wives are spending all this time together, you feel? Looking after the babies, and cleaning, and rubbing each other’s sore feet and stuff? And they get to talking, and one’s like **‘You know what, this man ain’t shit. We do everything around here, and look hot doing it!’ **And the other’s like **‘Yeah, you look hot, and you smell good too,’ **and the first is like** ‘So do you! You know what, we don’t need him!’** And the other’s like **‘What’s he given us we can’t give ourselves?’”**

Here Luis stopped and Clint found himself unconsciously leaning forward, eyebrows raised, just waiting for the conclusion. He was too enthralled by the story to even be embarrassed of that fact.

“So they divorce him, marry each other, and now he’s got no wives and spends all day complaining that the blip’s the worst thing ever happened to him. Life’s crazy, yo!”

Well, that was an ending for sure, one only fitting for the wild ride that whole story had been. Clint was starting to think Luis should record his stories and start selling them online, he’d probably make a fortune. Or start a YouTube channel or whatever it was that kids did these days to make stupid amounts of money for doing very little. Honestly, though, he would listen to every story, they were fascinating in a way he couldn’t describe. “What’s that saying about playing with fire?”

“Oh yeah, he got burned, man!” Luis looked entirely pleased with himself, but then he caught Bruce not so subtly checking his watch and seemed to snap out of it. “Now I gotta get these donuts inside before Dr. Pym sends his ants after me again.”

Taking a stack of boxes from the back of his car, Luis carried them into the lab leaving Bruce and Clint to the sudden heavy silence outside. “If we don’t go in Scott will eat them all,” Bruce broke it, his countenance taking on a concerned air again. Clint got it, he did, but it was starting to get frustrating with so many people treating him like he was fragile. 

“You go ahead. I’ll be in in a minute,” Clint replied, wishing he’d remembered his sunglasses as he looked up at the blue sky overhead.

“I know it wasn’t exactly the best topic for a story,” Bruce said slowly. “If you ever need to talk…”

Clint looked over and gave him a well practiced smile. He knew he should expect it, that nobody knew him well enough to know the inner-workings of his life, to have seen all the cracks. The one time Bruce had been let in the Bartons has presented a picture perfect image of the all American family. Nobody knew how much he had been concealing even then; how much he’d had to lie to everyone including himself to try to make it work. They couldn’t know then, and now everyone expected him to be falling apart; and maybe he was, maybe he was unravelling at the seams, but it had nothing to do with his marriage ending. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, with, you know… everything that happened, but it was a long time coming,” he said in his most reassuring tone. “I’m okay, man. It’s what’s best for all of us, I promise.” Bruce seemed unsure whether to accept this as truth or not, so Clint suddenly grinned at him. “Hey, don’t feel bad for me. This way I get to be more like Scott, and who wouldn’t want that?”

Bruce smiled and shook his head. “You might want to set your bar a little higher,” he said before taking the hint and leaving Clint to his solitude.

Clint was terrified of what tomorrow would bring, worried beyond belief that he would fail, but stronger than the fear and trepidation was hope. If he succeeded he could set the world right again in a way, by giving it back one of the people it was so much the worse for losing. Just thinking about it, just thinking of her existing in the world once more, gave him a momentary sense of peace. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the sun warm his face, and in spite of everything he smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like we could all do with a little comedic interlude, and many thanks to the ever wonderful Cass for helping me get Luis' voice right. Don't worry, there's always more angst to come!


	8. Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes down to this...

_Just focus on your breathing. Inhale. Exhale. It’s just like archery. Keep your eyes on the target. Inhale. Exhale. You got this. Inhale. Exhale. You never miss a shot. Inhale. Exhale. You’re not gonna miss this one._

The laboratory was too noisy and too hot, the suit too tight, the lights too bright. Everything was grating Clint’s already fragile nerves. He hadn’t slept, he hadn’t eaten, and he felt like he was ready to crawl out of his own skin. The time had come.

It was time to get Natasha back.

“Alright, you’ve been through this before, you know the drill,” Scott was saying, making a final adjustment to Clint’s suit as they stood in the centre of the platform where all the magic happened. It was easier to think of it that way than to call it a time machine. Even after everything he had seen and done, and what he was about to do, the idea of time travel still didn’t feel real to Clint. It was stupid, but it still felt like the stuff of science fiction, not reality. 

“Is science fiction based around time travel still classified as sci-fi? Should it be reclassified as just science now?” He mused aloud. It was the nerves talking, but he was sure he could see all the Pym Van Dynes mentally facepalming at the question. Scott seemed intrigued, though.

“Good question,” he said, face lighting up in interest as he started ticking things off on his fingers. “There’s also the space travel, and the aliens, and AI trying to take over the world, and-“

“Scott.” One word from Hope silenced him and he looked at her sheepishly. 

“Right. Later. We can talk about it later. There’s a fair damsel in distress to save!” He exclaimed gallantly, then grimaced. “Please don’t tell her I called her that. She’ll kick my ass. It’ll literally be her first act as a newly resurrected person… oh, resurrection! Though I guess it’s not technically resurrecting anyone from the dead since it’s actually wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey stuff…”

“Scott!” This time it was Hank, and he was a lot less pleasant about it than Hope, who hadn’t been all that pleasant herself. “Stop talking the guy’s ear off and let’s get going.”

“Right. Sorry.” He clasped a hand comfortingly on Clint’s shoulder. “When all this is over, sci-fi movie marathon. We’re planning one.” Grinning reassuringly he stepped back and pointed finger guns at Clint. “You got this! Go get your girl!”

Clint paled slightly and glanced over his shoulder at Bruce who stood behind him, but was too focused on the various monitors to notice. “She’s not… nevermind. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Focus._

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

In a flash, he was gone.

>>>————->

The air was ashen, somehow both hot and cold, and it took Clint a moment to reorient himself to his surroundings. Vormir, the place that had haunted his dreams until he’d practically stopped sleeping, that crept around the edges of his vision even when awake. The memories of this place consumed him, weighed on him, tore him apart like nothing else ever had. Losing his family had been one thing, but he hadn’t understood what was happening, had been unable to do anything, but this… this had been his failure. He knew exactly what Natasha planned to do and had been unable to convince her otherwise, nor stop her when talking was out of the question.

Oh how he had pleaded with her not to do it, to let him go instead. He had tried so hard to hold on, and he had until the very last second, until she forced him to let go. He never would have let her go. Never could have, and ever since it was like he had never left Vormir. The dark, gloomy atmosphere clung to him wherever he went. The sunlight felt dull and cold, the air stale.

She had taken her own life here that day to save his, but she might as well have taken his too.

Shaking off the memories and the dread, Clint peered around the outcrop of sharp rocks he was concealed behind and his breath caught in his throat. There she was, looking just as he remembered her. So beautiful, so shaken by what the protector of the stone had told them. He watched himself pacing, knowing exactly the thoughts running through his head. 

Oh god, he couldn’t do this. He felt panic rising within him as he watched the tender exchange, bodies close, foreheads touching, eyes shining with tears. He couldn’t watch this, couldn’t live this all over again. He wanted to run screaming from the shadows, tell them both to turn back, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

_A soul for a soul._

He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t disrupt the flow of events, not until the perfect moment. He had to let it play out, had to stand and watch as they fought not for their own lives, but for each other’s.

How hard he had fought that day. How grateful he had felt when he’d thought he’d won. Seeing it from the outside was surreal, and almost as painful. Hadn’t he relived this moment enough in his dreams and memories? Now he had to watch it as a bystander.

_Inhale. Exhale._

The other him swiped her leg, taking her down, and Clint winced. How was he supposed to watch himself hurt her? He felt sick, dizzy. He was going to throw up.

_No._

No, he couldn’t, he had to focus. He couldn’t miss his moment.

_Focus. Breathe._

The explosion knocking her off her feet, and there it was, that moment of victory. He remembered watching her as he ran, wanting the last thing he saw in the world to be her face, knowing he had protected her, had saved her, and that she in turn would save the world.

He remembered how it had felt as he had leapt over the edge. In that moment he had felt free. He could never undo what he had done the past five years, but his redemption lay in that jump, in making sure the world still had Natasha Romanoff in it.

Then he remembered the crushing devastation and defeat when she’d taken it all away.

_Focus, dammit! _

Clint forced his eyes back to Natasha and saw her getting to her feet.

_Inhale._

This was it.

_Exhale._

She started after the past version of him.

_Nock the arrow._

Clint stood from his hiding place and charged her.

_Let it fly._

He tackled her from the side, arms going around her waist as he took them both to the ground. The moment of shock was all he needed to catch her off guard, and by the time she realized what had happened, by the time she cried out and looked toward the cliff’s edge the Clint she had been chasing was gone. “No!” It was a blood curdling scream that sounded as if it was ripped from her very soul, and Clint swore he felt it tear through his. Quickly she brought her head up hard into his and the impact made him see stars, leaving him momentarily helpless as she pushed him roughly off of her to get to her feet. She was already turning, heading for the cliff, going after him.

_Not again..._

“Tasha, wait!” he cried out, and she stumbled, surprise and confusion flooding her entire system as she recognized his voice. Frozen in place, she finally looked at him, eyes wide, unable to comprehend what was happening, what she was seeing. He only had seconds. “Meet me where we landed. I’ll be waiting.” 

A second later she vanished.

Sitting on the cold, unforgiving stone, Clint buried his face in his hands and cried.

>>>————->

He wasn’t sure how long he had stayed there, practically drowning in a tumult of emotions. All these weeks of missing her, hating himself for losing her, trying to figure out how to go on without her; and these past few days filled with purpose, hope and desperation. It had worked. After everything, it had worked and Natasha was safe, and before he could really accept it she was gone again, presumably teleported to that same shallow pool he had woken up in with the stone. That damn stone. 

How long had he stayed there, clutching it in his hands and sobbing as if his very heart had been torn out? How long until he had mustered up the strength to keep moving, to finish what she had started and ensure her sacrifice hadn’t been in vain? Time had ceased to have any meaning, and once again Clint felt that sensation as he sat atop Vormir, too overwhelmed to process. Much quicker this time, though, he got to his feet and made his way back down the treacherous, deadly mountain. Hopefully this was the last time he would ever see this place, though he was sure it would continue to haunt his dreams for years to come.

When he reached the base, there was nothing to do but wait, his eyes fixed in the direction he knew she would approach from. What if she never showed? What if this was all a dream, or all the planning had somehow been for naught? Would the stone know it had been tricked? Did it care that he had traded souls? It still got its price, why did it matter whose soul it was? But what if it did? What if that one glimpse of Natasha was all he would ever see? What if yet again his last memories of her were fighting? What if, what if, what if.

Minutes, hours, days passed until he finally saw her crest the hill; wet, cautious, mistrusting. She looked at him like he was some sort of phantom, unsure of what she had seen with her own eyes. “Clint…” she breathed, confused and unsure, and he sucked in a sharp breath. He thought he would never hear her voice again, hear her say his name again, and somehow that drove it all home.

It had really worked.

He took a step toward her, wanting nothing more than to envelop her in his arms and never let her go, but she flinched, the slight movement like a knife in his heart. He couldn’t blame her, not after what she had just witnessed. “Nat, it’s okay. It’s me,” he said softly. “I’ll explain everything, but let’s get out of here first, okay?”

She looked at him so suspiciously, and when he took another step towards her she suddenly strode forward, pushing past him and starting toward the mountain. “Tasha, wait!” But she didn’t wait. “_Please_…”

His voice was so broken, so desperate, that finally she paused and turned to face him. He knew what she intended, that a part of her needed to see the body to try to understand. And he knew what that would do to her. He didn’t even know if there even was a body to see, maybe it somehow _became_ the stone, but he couldn’t risk it. “Please don’t look. It’s an image you’ll never get out of your head. It’ll always be there just waiting for you to close your eyes. You won’t be able to shake it. It’ll… it’ll haunt you.”

She studied him in that all too familiar way as he pleaded with her, the way that showed she could see through him like no one else ever could. She could see deep into his soul, blackened as it was now, to the man he had been, the man who never lied to her, who always gave it to her straight. The pain was evident in the dark circles under his eyes, in every line on his face, and he saw her slowly putting the pieces together. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out, so Clint filled the silence. “You saved me. The first time, you saved me. You saved everyone.”

It was enough for her to understand what had happened. She was smart, she didn’t need it all spelled out for her, though she obviously deserved a full explanation. And she would get it, just not here, not in this place. He couldn’t think here, could barely breathe here. 

Slowly she moved toward him and his breath caught in his throat. From the corner of his eye he saw her raise her hand, and it was like slow motion, the seconds stretching until she finally placed it softly on his cheek, her skin damp yet warm, her eyes never leaving his. 

At her touch he crumbled.

Pulling her to him Clint buried his face in her shoulder and held her so tight, tears flowing freely, sobs wracking his body. She was real. She was alive and real and he had saved her. It had worked, he had saved her. She was alive.

He felt one of her arms slide around his back, her other hand resting on his head, fingers threading through his hair. Her touch was so gentle, so comforting, the stiffness slowly draining away and leaving her soft against him. Yes, she would need an explanation, but for now it was enough. Seeing him like this she knew the truth, and as always she trusted him, truly and unshakeably.

They stayed like that until his crying ceased, and even when he pulled away they spoke no words. They returned to his time, leaving the stone behind. It had done its job, they had used it in the future and Steve had returned it right when it needed to be. Nothing was changed, but in 2023 a new life could begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This is one of the first chapters I wrote for this fic. I basically wrote a whole story just for this chapter, and for the one a ways back where Clint actually got to say his piece. I poured everything into this so I do hope it was satisfying! But that's not all! Now that our girl is back there's still so much to deal with, so there are still many chapters to come! I hope you'll stick with me! And I do hope that this is as cathartic to some of you as it was for me writing it. Thank you all so much! And thanks again Cass!


	9. Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for a little shift of perspective...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we got our girl back, how about we get a little Natasha POV going?

In the blink of an eye the ashen air and purple sky of Vormir was gone and Natasha found herself standing in a laboratory, three strange faces and a very ecstatic Scott Lang staring back at her. Clint’s fingers were still wrapped around hers and she squeezed his hand tightly as she tried to adjust to the new surroundings.

“It worked!” Scott whooped, rushing forward and hugging her excitedly. She didn’t return it, feeling unable to move, to react to anything. Had she been prone to panic she would have done just that when she felt Clint’s hand slip from hers as the others moved in. That small contact was the only thing that made sense in the moment, and she felt her grip on reality shifting without it. “I mean, we were pretty sure it would, but there was always the chance the Hawk over there would screw it up, or-“

“Scott,” the young brunette woman admonished, stepping forward and grasping his shoulder firmly. “Let her breathe.” Sheepishly he let go and moved aside. “I’m Hope Van Dyne,” the woman introduced herself, then proceeded to gesture to the older couple behind her. “This is my mother, Janet Van Dyne, and my father, Hank Pym.”

Natasha nodded in greeting, the names familiar even if she didn’t recognize the faces. They were all watching her closely, eagerly, and her fingers twitched at her side, wishing they still had Clint’s comforting hand to hold. She felt like an animal in a zoo, or maybe at a circus where she was expected to perform. It should be easy, she’d spent much of her life doing so, but even her instincts seemed to be failing her. 

Hearing movement behind her, she turned expecting to find Clint, but was surprised at the figure who stood beside him. Another familiar face, one that had once caused her such terror, but now seemed to evoke a sense of peace. That day on the helicarrier felt like a lifetime ago now.

In some ways she supposed it was.

“Hello, Bruce,” she said, smiling warmly at him, but he couldn’t seem to smile back. She could see the unshed tears in his eyes, and something akin to guilt swimming in them. Was she going to see that look from each of her friends as she reunited with them? Guilt that they hadn’t been able to save her somehow?

She took a step toward him and held out her left hand, but instead of taking it he rubbed his own arm instead. Brow furrowing slightly, she took a moment to look closer, and while the lab coat he wore concealed much, it didn’t hide his hand. Grey, shrivelled, hanging weakly by his side; looking up to his face she could just see the hint of the scars at his neck as well, the green of his skin fading into massive scar tissue.

She knew what it meant, had seen similar damage to Thanos when they had tracked him down. Someone had had to use the stones, to snap that glove and reverse the damage Thanos had done, and it only made sense that it had been Bruce. Who else among them was strong enough?

He looked down, one large, strong, green hand covering the withered remnants of his other. “I tried to bring you back too,” he said quietly. Clint stood silently at his side, eyes never leaving Natasha as if he expected her to vanish if they did.

“I know,’ she replied softly. Of course he had tried to make her life part of the deal as well, but it didn’t work that way. It probably shouldn’t have worked _this_ way either, but it had. Somehow they had figured out a way to cheat the system after all.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Hank cut in, clearing his throat, “but we really should run a few tests to ensure there are no… side effects you should worry about.”

Right, there was still that. A bug under a microscope, then, that was more fitting.

Reluctantly she joined Dr. Pym at one of the test benches, taking a seat on the indicated stool. Janet pulled one up opposite her and started preparing a needle and several vials. Natasha always hated this part, too many bad memories when it came to doctors and medical procedures. She wanted nothing more than to bolt from the room and try to find somewhere dark, and quiet, and entirely devoid of people so she could have a moment to think. Instead she stretched out her arm and rolled up her sleeve as best she could in the restrictive suit, giving no outward indication of discomfort. “How long have I been gone?” She asked, hoping to distract herself and get some information in the process.

“Almost seven weeks,” Bruce answered, but at the same time she heard another, softer voice mutter “47 days.” Looking over she met Clint’s eyes again, eyes filled with pain, grief and guilt. He looked quickly away.

Forty-seven days; what he must have gone through. In the moment there hadn’t been time to consider what she’d be leaving behind. He’d have his family to comfort him once the rest of them saved the world, but the guilt he must have felt, the survivor’s guilt on top of his grief… she could see it all written so plainly on his face. Haunted eyes sat above darkened circles, and he clearly hadn’t been sleeping well nor eating much. She had seen him like this before, but those times she had been able to keep him on routine. After Loki, right after the snap, she had been there to keep him going. Not this time. This time she hadn’t been there. This time it was her loss that pushed him over the edge, and nobody else knew how to keep him from falling. The change in him was startling as it was so instant. To her it had happened in minutes, but for him it had been forty-seven days.

The next few hours were a blur. Her vitals were checked, blood taken, various tests and scans run. She didn’t ask any questions about her lost time, didn’t feel like this was the time nor place. Too many people she wasn’t familiar with, too clinical a setting. There would be time to catch up later when it was quiet and she could speak with Clint alone.

>>>————->

Apparently Clint had been staying with Scott and Hope the past few days and they offered to put her up as well. With few other options, and wanting to be wherever her partner was, she took the offer, and sat silently in the back with Clint as Hope drove them home and Scott chatted almost ceaselessly in the passenger seat. It was the most uncomfortable she could ever remember feeling in Clint’s presence, but then she pretty much felt uncomfortable in her own skin right now.

Back at the house Hope gave her a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a towel and left her to shower. After that long hike up Vormir’s summit, and everything else she had been through today, the hot water felt amazing. She had taken out her braid and soaped up her long hair. She should probably get it cut soon, get rid of the rest of the bleached tresses that lingered. It hadn’t exactly been a style choice, more a product of the depression that had pulled her under for five years. It was just easier to put it up than deal with styling it, but now was probably a good time for a change.

She stayed longer than she should have in the shower, not stepping out until her skin was red from the heat and every inch of her had been scrubbed clean. She didn’t feel like she had died, certainly didn’t remember it, but somehow she’d felt like she had to wash the very stench of death itself from her body. 

If only she could do the same with her mind.

Drying off she dressed in the borrowed clothes, glad to find that they not only fit but were comfortable as well. Wiping the steam from the mirror, she stared at her reflection. She didn’t look any different, but then why should she? Nothing had changed for her, not like the others. Was this how half the population felt, returning to a world five years changed with no memory of lost time? In all honesty, Natasha felt numb. She had been ready to die, ready to give her life for the one person who meant _everything _to her, only to find out that apparently she already had, and he hadn’t been able to live with it. She had given him his life back, his family back, but it hadn’t been enough. Clint was no scientist, but the method, the details… she had no doubt this had been his brainchild somehow. He hadn’t been able to move on and let her go, and had done whatever it took to get her back.

_Of course he had._

Wrapping her hair up in the towel, she picked up the delicate silver chain she had set on the counter before her shower, and fastened it back around her neck. She touched the small arrow charm, the ghost of a smile on her lips as she finally left the bathroom and made her way through the silent house. Cassie was with her mother, so Natasha would be staying in her room for the night. Clint had offered to take the sofa, but he wasn’t there when she peered in on her way by. Unsurprisingly, when she opened the door to Cassie’s room he was seated at the foot of the bed, waiting for her. 

“Hey,” he greeted awkwardly, eyes skimming over her with a glint of relief, like he had been worried he’d dreamed the whole thing. She noticed how they lingered on her necklace a moment longer than necessary before moving on.

“Hey,” she replied, closing the door softly behind her and resting against it as she turned to face him again.

“So… that was a lot,” he said carefully, his gaze more searching now that he had assured himself she was alive and real. He was studying her every move, every breath, and assessing her in a way only he could. Still, he had to ask “how are you?” despite knowing it was a terrible question.

“I’m…” she paused to contemplate her answer, eventually settling on “processing.” As much as she wanted to brush it all off and hide, Clint didn’t deserve that anymore than he deserved false reassurance. There were things she kept hidden from him, things she could never tell him, but in this she could be honest. “Apparently I died,” she continued. “I’ve been dead for 47 days and now I’m not. It’s a lot to deal with… though I guess it’s no different than the people that vanished in the snap.”

“It’s different,” he said quickly, instinctively.

She looked him over, scrutinizing every line, every hollow, everything that looked different than she remembered. He was growing his hair out again, clearly over the mohawk, and he hadn’t shaved in a few days, but it was his eyes that told the story. This was a broken man, a haunted man, one who had been barely holding it together. Natasha had thought she had seen the last of that man in Tokyo, but even with the snap reversed, with his family alive again, he looked unchanged. “I don’t remember it. I guess for me it never happened because you stopped me. But for you…”

Clint looked away, swallowing hard and taking a shaky breath. She pretended not to notice, removing the towel from her hair and hanging it on the doorknob to dry. Carefully she ran her fingers through her hair, untangling any knots as she went. “We should probably get some rest. It’s been a long day. We can talk about everything tomorrow,” he said, and when she looked at him again she saw his eyes following the movement of her hand, his fingers drumming absently against his thighs. Casually she approached and sat beside him on the bed, turning her back to him and brushing her hair back over her shoulders. A wordless request, and one he understood immediately and wasted no time in fulfilling. 

His hands were gentle as he ran his fingers through her hair, carefully pulling it all back and dividing it into three sections. It had been so many years ago now that he had first done this. She had been injured, one arm stuck in a cast, and against her threats and protestations he had insisted on helping her wash and braid her hair so it could be kept out of the way. He told her how he had learned to do so in the circus, on a horse’s mane, and the image had been so ridiculous she had given in.

He had been surprisingly good at it.

Now it was a task to focus on, and a physical one at that. He couldn’t continue to wonder if she was truly there if he could touch her, could feel the soft strands of her hair between his fingers. And for her it was just as needed, a soothing action, one that brought with it a sense of normalcy. Of intimacy.

“I know I’ve missed a lot, and we have a lot to talk about,” Natasha said quietly as Clint took his time braiding her hair. She knew he could accomplish the task much quicker but said nothing. She wanted to prolong it just as much as he clearly did. “It can wait until tomorrow, but you should sleep in here tonight.”

“Tasha-“ he started to protest, but she cut him off quickly.

“Clint, clearly you haven’t been sleeping, so this is not up for debate.”

He didn’t need to see her face to know she wasn’t taking no for an answer. Silently taking the hair tie she handed him, he finished off the braid and sat back. “Fine.”

It was never a question of her taking the sofa instead as they lay down on the bed together. This was far from the first time they had shared one, they hadn’t exactly been in the position to be choosy about sleeping arrangements on missions, but it hadn’t happened for a long time now.

Instinctively they took up their usual positions back to back, a habit they got into so they could always be prepared for any attack; a survival instinct. Even behind her she swore she could feel the tension radiating off of him. Was he afraid she would disappear? Was he still worried that somehow none of this was real? What had he been through these past few months to leave him so completely on edge?

After a long moment she shifted backwards until her back pressed against his. His whole body stiffened, but a heartbeat later he pushed back against her a little more solidly. It was just what he needed, and shortly afterwards she felt his breathing slow and even out as he finally drifted asleep. 

Unfortunately she would not be so lucky that night. 


	10. Part 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry for the super late update! Creativity has been on the fritz, which I'm sure many of you understand completely. A huge thanks to all of you who reviewed and encouraged and stuck by me through all of this, and hopefully we're finally back on track!

_The atmosphere around her was thick, cold… heavy. It compressed her lungs, squeezed her heart in a deathly tight grip. The explosion had knocked her from her feet, left her momentarily disoriented, but she didn’t have time to recover. Raising her head she saw him bolting for the edge, but his focus wasn’t on the goal, it was on her. Their eyes met and she could read everything he was feeling: sorrow, regret, love, acceptance… and a final farewell. _

_He reached the edge and leapt and she still couldn’t move, couldn’t stop him, couldn’t even find the breath to scream. Then she felt it somehow, the impact when he hit reverberating through her whole body, shattering her heart when she felt his stop…_

Natasha’s eyes snapped open but she caught the terrified gasp before it could escape. This wasn’t her bed. This wasn’t her room. She wasn’t on Vormir, but she wasn’t home either. And she wasn’t alone. The surface at her back was warm and a bit damp, and when she heard his laboured breathing punctuated with a fearful whimper the events of yesterday all came rushing back. It had been a dream but not a dream; Clint had gone over the edge and she had been unable to save him, but only because _he_ had stopped her from doing so, because _he_ had defied time itself to save _her._

She could feel his heart hammering against her and knew she wasn’t the only one having nightmares tonight. Reaching back her fingertips brushed his arm, feeling the sheen of sweat that covered it, and traveled down to his hand, the veins and bones standing out as he clutched relentlessly at the bedsheets. Covering his hand with her own she felt the tension slowly ease, his harsh breathing evening out. If he awoke at all it wasn’t fully, and soon she could tell he had fallen back into a deep slumber.

Is this what it was like for him every night? Repeating that same day over and over, unable to change the outcome? Watching helplessly as she died? She didn’t know how exactly it had played out for him, but she knew in the end he had seen her body, and it was that image that haunted him above all else. What little sleep she had gotten had been plagued by the nightmare of losing him over the edge, but for weeks he’d had to live with so much more. No wonder he looked like hell.

For the next few hours Natasha laid there, trying to piece together all the facts and hints into a coherent timeline of events. She felt anxious not knowing what she had missed, but Clint’s steady presence at her back acted like an anchor keeping her from being set completely adrift. It was so tempting to wake him, to ask him all the questions that were burning within her, but when the first light of dawn finally began peeking around the curtains and she slipped from the bed, he didn’t even stir. He was usually a light sleeper, at least on missions when the situation called for it, so she took it as a testament to how exhausted he must have been and didn’t have the heart to wake him. The hell he must have been going through… so much more than anyone had let on yet. 

Leaving him to rest, she made her way silently to the kitchen, surprised to find she wasn’t the first one up. “Good morning,” Hope greeted her with an easy smile. “Can I get you some tea or coffee?” 

“Tea would be great, thank you,” Natasha replied, lingering by the door. “I didn’t think anyone else would be up yet.”

Hope set the kettle on to boil and took a mug out of the cupboard, dropping a tea bag into it. “I’m an early riser. Please, have a seat,” she said. “Hope I didn’t catch you trying to make a run for it.” She turned back to Natasha and grinned, but there was an air of reassurance to it. “We have everything we need for any further tests so you should be safe.”

“It’s fine,” Natasha chuckled despite herself, taking a seat at the table. Either she hadn’t been as neutral during all the tests yesterday as she had thought, or Hope was just assuming a distaste for the process based on… well, was there anyone who didn’t find situations like that uncomfortable? “Not everyday someone comes back from the dead. Or time travels back from before they died, I suppose.” She made a face, still trying to wrap her head around what had happened and using humour to deflect. It was especially hard to deal with something that didn’t actually happen to her and therefore she had no memory of, but that was hard to explain.

Pouring the freshly boiled water into the mug and refilling her own coffee, Hope set the drinks on the table along with a sugar bowl and a carton of milk. “I take it you didn’t talk much last night,” she said, taking the seat across from Natasha.

“No,” she admitted, passing on the milk and sugar and drinking her tea clear. “Clint looked like he might pass out mid conversation so we decided to put it off until after he got some sleep.”

Hope studied Natasha for a long moment, a spark of curiosity in her eyes that Natasha recognized. This wouldn’t be the first person to wonder at the exact nature of her and Clint’s relationship, how their whole deal worked. “Probably a good idea. I think he was surviving on coffee and adrenaline alone the whole time he’s been here,” Hope said, and even though she barely knew either of these strangers in her house very well, her very demeanour seemed to radiate a subtle concern that only the well trained spy could pick up on. Leaning sideways in her chair, she reached across to the cupboard and grabbed a package of croissants, setting them on the table between them. “You must be hungry.”

“I’m not sure what I am,” Natasha admitted, but she took a pastry anyway, pinching off one corner and taking a small bite. It was flaky and buttery and somehow tasted different than she remembered. Almost like it was the memory of a dream. “I was ready to die.” She said suddenly. She wasn’t sure why she was opening up to this woman she had met only yesterday, but there was something about Hope that seemed trustworthy and understanding. Or maybe she was a kindred spirit who knew what it was like loving an unintentionally self destructive idiot.

“So was he,” Hope said simply. Of course Natasha knew that, but to hear it said aloud by someone who hadn’t been there and didn’t know them… it struck her differently somehow. Clint had fought so hard to be the one to give his life, and to her he had. She had seen him go over the cliff, she knew what that resulted in even if this whole ordeal meant it didn’t matter. It mattered to her.

Staring down into her mug, she pursed her lips to one side. “But I wasn’t ready to let him die,” she said quietly.

“Neither was he,” was Hope’s steady answer.

And that was what it all came down to. Neither was able to let the other go, and they had spent their last moments together fighting to be the one who died so the other could live. It was painful and tragic and not the last memories anyone should have of someone they loved, but what choice had they had? There was no way either of them would just stand back and let the other make that sacrifice. That didn’t make it any easier, though. He had been haunted for weeks by this, her broken body his last image of her. Then, yesterday, he saved her. He saved _her._ He had been so unwilling to let her go even 47 days later that he had done the impossible and brought her back. 

“It was impressive, really. His timing had to be perfect. Too late and he’d miss you, too early and we’re uncertain of the repercussions. The only way we could guarantee it was if the stone was still achieved. That way it was still used, still returned. That’s the part that mattered. Somehow he figured it all out.” Hope seemed a little awed, and more than a bit disbelieving that Clint had been the one to figure this out. Clint, with no scientific background; just an orphan carny turned secret agent. 

Natasha just smiled. “I’m not surprised,” she said, admiration clear in her voice. “Clint has always been smarter than people give him credit for.” It was part of his schtick to make people underestimate him, much like she used her looks to the same affect. If people thought him stupid they would think him slow, and brush him off as non-threatening. It was many a man’s last mistake.

“I have one of those too,” Hope said, grinning back.

As if on cue Scott entered the kitchen wearing plaid boxers and a stained t-shirt, with his hair stuck up in every direction, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He stopped when he noticed the women looking at him. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just talking about how attractive you are,” she said in a disingenuous tone.

Either Scott missed it or chose to ignore it because he smiled brightly at her. “Aw, you’re pretty attractive yourself,” he said, leaning down to give her a quick kiss before making a beeline for the coffee pot. “Rip Van Winkle is finally getting some sleep, huh?” He got a mug down from the cupboard. “There’s actually coffee left.”

“Yes, and we’re going to leave them both to catch up, so you better make that coffee to go,” Hope replied.

Scott stopped with the coffee pot poised above his mug as he processed what she was saying. He looked like he wanted to protest, but was unable to come up with the words to do so while still half asleep, so he just reluctantly set the pot down and started rummaging through the cupboards for a travel mug. Meanwhile, Natasha gave Hope a grateful look that was answered with only a knowing smile. She needed time to talk with Clint, and it would be much easier to have that conversation if they were alone.

Hope stood and opened a cupboard that Scott had already checked twice, producing a travel mug he had somehow overlooked. “Help yourself to anything you need,” she said to Natasha. “The kitchen is at your disposal, and you know where my closet is if you need any clothes. I also left a little care packet in the bathroom with a toothbrush and a few things, and my keys are hanging by the door if you need to go anywhere.” 

“Thank you. Both of you. I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” Natasha said, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. She had never met this woman before, and here she was offering up her house, her closet, and she had even taken the time to pick up a few necessities for someone who had been, for all intents and purposes, dead. Maybe Natasha was just overemotional from the experience, but she was touched at the care and impressed by the level of detail and trust.

“Sorry? Don’t be! Hank’s practically giddy about this new breakthrough! He went like a full two hours without insulting me,” Scott replied, beaming at her.

“Today is a new day,” Hope said, handing Scott his coffee and a croissant, and giving him a gentle nudge back towards the bedroom to get dressed.

“Hey, let me enjoy it while it lasts, okay?” He complained, voice fading down the hall.

Natasha stayed in the kitchen, picking at her croissant and mulling over the whole situation. It had been tempting to ask Scott or Hope to fill in some blanks, but she knew this was a conversation she had to have with Clint. She just had to be patient a little while longer.

He had waited 47 days for her, she could give him a couple more hours.


	11. Part 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha finally gets caught up on everything she has missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after an extra long break to end out the hell year that was 2020, let's start 2021 off right with a new chapter! A day late, of course, because I'm still me lol. I should note that I do have at least part of every remaining chapter written, so while my updates may remain slow while I finish them up, this fic WILL be finished. To everyone who has stuck with me thus far I simply cannot express my gratitude, and I hope you'll still be there in the end. Now on to the story!

She sat on the sofa, television remote in hand and eyes fixed on the blank screen. She could just turn it on, switch it to some news channel, but was that really how she wanted to catch up on any world events she had missed? Did she want to jump right into the presumably ongoing aftermath of returning half the world’s population five years after they had vanished? At the time it had been so obvious, if there was a way to bring everyone back of course they had to try, but they hadn’t considered the consequences. How many people had moved on in that time only to have their lives turned upside down all over again? It couldn’t have been easy for everyone, and for some it might not have even been welcomed, but Natasha had to believe that most were grateful for what they had done.

Still, it was a lot to consider, and she wasn’t quite ready for that. She needed to hear what she had missed regarding those who meant the most to her first, needed to know they were all well and happy, because she couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t. The way she had found Clint last night… that couldn’t be all for her, could it?

Flipping the controller over in her hand again, she looked up when she heard a door open down the hall. A moment later Clint appeared, cautious and wide eyed. There was barely controlled panic clear in his blue eyes, and when they settled on her she inwardly kicked herself for leaving him without a word. One decent night’s sleep wasn’t enough to make up for the pure exhaustion he had been suffering from, of course he would wake up disoriented. Finding himself alone probably only made it worse. “Clint, I’m right here,” she said, and the sound of her voice seemed to shake him back to reality. He took a moment to assure himself she was real before his whole tense demeanour melted into one of pure relief. She decided it was best not to acknowledge it. “There’s a pot of coffee on keeping warm.”

He was clearly reluctant to take his eyes off of her but she gave him an easy smile and he hesitated a moment longer before diverting to the kitchen first. He was back a moment later with a coffee and the package of croissants. Sitting beside her on the sofa, he set the coffee down and opened the package, proceeding to shove one of the pastries in his mouth before offering the rest to her. She shook her head. “I already ate,” she explained so he wouldn’t worry. 

Trading the food for his coffee, Clint bit off practically half the croissant in one mouthful, and settled back against the couch. She knew he was partially stalling, but it was also good to see him eating something so she didn’t push to start the conversation they both knew was coming. Instead she reached over to pinch off a piece of his pastry, and popped it into her mouth. He gave her a scandalized look, and for a moment it was just like old times. For that brief moment it was like they were back at SHIELD, goofing off in their downtime before everything got so complicated. 

The moment didn’t last.

There was a dark and troubled look in his eyes that never quite went away, and it made Natasha uneasy. He had succeeded in the impossible, he had technically brought her back from the dead, but that couldn’t erase all that he had gone through. Everything wasn’t going to be magically perfect now that she was back. She needed time to readjust, but so did he. Hopefully with time that look would fade.

He finished his breakfast in silence, and she could see him contemplating another croissant. He didn’t really want it, she could still read him well enough to pick that up easily, but the more he ate the longer he could put off talking. He glanced over at her as he went to reach for the package again, but retracted his hand when he met her gaze. Busted. She always had been able to see right through him.

“So…” she started, debating between easing into this or just tearing off the bandaid, so to speak. “Obviously I missed some things.” An understatement to be sure. “Scott and Hope are out for the day so we have time to catch up, so why don’t we jump right into it?”

Natasha had never been one to beat around the bush, and despite his discomfort and reluctance he smiled as she got right to it. “It’s not gonna be easy to hear,” he said. 

_Or say,_ she thought, noting the way Clint almost seemed to fold in on himself now that the topic was broached, tucking his hands between his knees and hunching his shoulders. “What is when it’s important?”

“Point.” And that was the issue, wasn’t it? Clint had never been good at talking about important things. He was more likely to bottle things up, swallow down his feelings and just pretend everything was fine for as long as he could. She knew this about him, knew it all too well, and sometimes she wondered if she let him go too far, if she should have pushed him to talk things out more often. She had thought about that a lot after the snap, about all the things she could have done over the years that maybe could have prevented him from going off the deep end as he had. But there was nothing to be done about that now, she could only focus on the present.

She gave him a moment to continue, but he stayed silent, eyes fixed on his lap and brow deeply furrowed. “So I know the plan worked, and Bruce was the one to reverse it,” she offered, trailing off to leave him with a starting point. When he didn’t pick up the thread she rested a hand on his knee and said his name softly.

Clint took a deep but unsteady breath and let it out slowly. She saw him debating how to start before deciding to follow her lead and just jump in with both feet. “When Bruce did the snap that wasn’t the end of it. It worked, everyone was back, but Thanos followed us. The one from 2014. Brought a whole army with him and attacked before we even knew he was there. The base was destroyed, Nat.”

He looked over at her, trying to gauge her reaction, but she kept her expression guarded. That had been her home for some of the worst years of her life, but ‘home’ wasn’t something she had ever put much stock in. Home had never been a place for her, so while the news struck her with a bit of sadness, it was nothing close to what Clint seemed to be expecting. But it wasn’t entirely about that, was it? He was stalling again, and being far too cautious. There was worse news to come. “So we rebuild. It doesn’t matter where we are as long as the team is together, right?”

Quickly he looked away and Natasha’s stomach dropped. Her team wasn’t together. She had sacrificed everything and they had fixed the world, but her team, her _family,_ wasn’t whole. She wasn’t the only missing piece. “Clint…”

She could see him wrestling with himself, trying to figure out the best way to deliver the news he was holding in, and she knew it was bad. She knew him, she knew he didn’t want to say it, that he didn’t want to hurt her, and whatever this news was it was going to hurt.

“We tried to fight him off, but he had a whole army, and flying warships,” he continued quietly. “The only way was the glove. We had to snap again, but… you saw what it did to Bruce’s arm. And this time…” he swallowed and looked over at her. “Tony…”

_Oh god._

Thor or Carol probably could have handled it, maybe even Steve, but Tony… despite his high tech gear and larger than life personality and bravado, was ultimately just a man. He had no enhancements, no god-like powers to help him withstand something like that.

Clint could see that he didn’t need to spell out what had happened, so he took her hand comfortingly in his. She didn’t respond, still shocked at the revelation. It just didn’t seem possible, Tony had been fine when she’d last seen him, back in his element how she always pictured him. She had known him longer than she’d known anyone else on the team save for Clint, and while they hadn’t always seen eye to eye she _had_ always cared about him. 

“He saved us all,” Clint said softly, squeezing her hand. “Just like you.”

Just like her? Well that was it then, wasn’t it? “So we bring him back. Just like me,” she said quickly, the slightest tinge of desperation in her voice sounding foreign even to her own ears. And hopeless. She knew it was hopeless even as she said it. It was too obvious a suggestion, and they wouldn’t even be having this conversation if it was that easy. 

“I wish we could, believe me,” Clint said, letting her hand go to give her space until she wanted his comfort. “Being able to bring you back was practically a miracle. Everything had to line up just right, and I had to die in your place. It was just the two of us, no outside factors. I remembered every second of it…” he trailed off a second, swallowing hard at the memory. A memory that would doubtless haunt him forever, even with her back in his life. “I had to time it perfectly, stop you before you could stop me. The other me died, we still got the stone. Nothing changed. But Tony… it was the middle of the battle, Thanos almost won, and to change anything…”

“Is to risk changing everything,” she said quietly.

“Yeah.” It was clear he had given this a lot of thought. “Maybe not for us, not if Bruce is right and Hollywood is all wrong, but we’d probably be creating a new universe where Thanos wins, and we wouldn’t be the ones living with the consequences.”

It made sense, of course, but she didn’t want it to. She wanted to argue, to work out some plan to make it work, but she hadn’t been there, she had no idea how everything had gone down. If even Bruce said it couldn’t work then she had to accept it. But Clint hadn’t accepted it about her…

“How are Pepper and Morgan?” She asked after a long moment.

“Rhodey goes up there almost every weekend,” he replied. “They’re okay. They’ll be okay.”

Well at least that confirmed that Rhodey was okay as well, and that fact gave her a small semblance of relief. The two of them had grown very close over the past five years, he had become her confidant, someone who understood her and did what he could to help even when he didn’t agree, but somehow that made this all even worse. She felt queasy, _guilty. _Why should she get to come back but not Tony? Why should she live while he died? Why should his family have to live without him? His family, who had been so happy, so peaceful… “We asked him to do it,” she said suddenly, and Clint looked over at her, brow furrowed and eyes searching. “He was happy, he had moved on, but we couldn’t. We couldn’t let it go.” This wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. “He had everything to lose, and we had nothing.”

Clint shifted closer to her and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently against him, a comfort she gratefully accepted. “Hey, it’s not your fault,” he said soothingly, and she just shook her head against his chest as she held tightly to him. In some ways it had started with her and Tony. It had been a lie, a job, and they hadn’t exactly gotten along when he found out, but there had always been a strange affection there. And admiration. Maybe it made sense that it had started with them and it had been them to go first, but not if she got to come back and he didn’t. Especially not since she was the one to drag him into this. Well, partially. He had been happy, he’d finally settled down and found peace and they had torn it away from him. They had known exactly what they were doing, had known that once the idea was in his head he wouldn’t be able to let it go, and it had cost him everything. 

They should have left him alone. If they had, he’d still be enjoying his life with his beautiful family. _And Sam, Wanda, and everyone else would still be dead._ We don’t trade in lives, Steve had said, but they had. Tony had. He had traded his life for half the world.

Natasha wasn’t sure if she could say if it was worth it or not.

Although she had never admitted it to anyone, their rift after the accords had weighed heavily on her. She had betrayed him, and in a way herself as well. In the end it hadn’t been about changing her mind, all that had mattered was keeping what she could of their team together, and preventing anyone else from being hurt. Steve was too stubborn to stop, the only way to prevent more damage was to let him go, but that hadn’t been able to prevent the splintering of her relationship with Tony.

After that… nothing. All those years, and nothing, but then those last few weeks - bouncing ideas around with Tony and Bruce, dinners with the ten of them crowded around the table, and how excited they had all been to go on the mission - they were the happiest Natasha had been in years. And now? Now she was back, they were all back… but not Tony.

Holding Clint a little tighter as the full weight of the loss crashed down on her, she didn’t even realize she had been silently crying until she felt his shirt wet against her cheek.

For a long time they stayed just like that, Clint’s arms comfortably around her, her head against his chest. She had never been the most physically affectionate person, but Clint made it easy. There was something about his presence that was always calming, that made her feel safe and loved. The loss of the base hadn’t hit her hard because home had never been a place to her, it was a person. A person who had now risked everything, bent the rules of time itself, and cheated some sort of mystic system to get her back.

Eventually she pulled away from the embrace and sat back, clearing her throat and wiping any lingering moisture from her cheeks. She knew her eyes were red and puffy and she was looking far from the composed super spy most people knew her as, but this was Clint. He had seen her at her best, her worst, and everything in between, and had never once judged her for any of it. Instead he just gave her the softest and most comforting look as she brushed uselessly at the damp spot she had left on his shirt.

She hadn’t meant to let herself break, not now, not at the start. What if there was more? She couldn’t imagine any other news being worse than this, but she couldn’t guarantee it. It was time to press on and get the full story.

“What about everyone else?” She asked, her voice raw but steady. She watched him carefully, her body tensing when he flinched. It was barely perceptible, probably not detectable to anyone but her, but there was definitely a reaction. 

“They’re good,” he said, though she sensed the hesitation. “I mean we’re still trying to find our footing with the new team, but it’s okay.”

Right. A team without Tony. And, she supposed, without her at the time. “I’m sure Steve will pull it together.”

She definitely didn’t miss his reaction this time, subtle as it may be. He caught his breath, his body tensed; something had happened to Steve too, and that gnawing in her stomach increased. She didn’t need to say anything this time, though, as her expression said it all. “He’s fine!” Clint said quickly, but she only narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Fine’ was never _fine._ “He’s just… old.”

Old.

Old?

“Well, we’ve always known that,” she said, not understanding what he meant. They always joked about Steve being an old man, but this wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t often she was left completely at a loss, but right now she couldn’t predict in the slightest where Clint was going with this.

That feeling didn’t go away even as he tried to explain.

“No, I mean really old. Like grey and wrinkly old.” Why was he always so terrible at explaining things that weren’t tactical? Task him with laying out a complicated plan and giving assignments to thirty agents and he could pull it off perfectly, but ask him something simple like why he owns two fondue pots when he’s never even used one and you still won’t understand the reason twenty minutes into the explanation. 

Crossing her arms, Natasha gave him a pointed look until he tried again. “Once everything was back to… normal? I guess as close to normal as we could get,” he said, shrugging and shaking his head, “we still had to return the stones to the time when they were taken. You know, so we didn’t create, like, alternate universes or whatever.” After all this time, and everything he’d seen and done, Clint still clearly had a hard time wrapping his head around the whole thing. “Steve volunteered, he took them back, then just… stayed there. In the past. Lived his life there, and came back old.”

Now that was a lot to absorb. He had just stayed in the past, had seen the opportunity and had taken it. Certainly not what she had expected, but as she thought about it it made sense. When Steve said he couldn’t move on, he had never been talking about just the snap. He carried that compass containing Peggy Carter’s picture around like a talisman, and the bullheaded way he fought for Bucky without considering any outside advice nor the well being of anyone else spoke to more than just friendship. After Peggy died, Bucky was his last tie to the past, to the life he once had. She had thought maybe he could let that go after he had Bucky back and made a place for himself with the Avengers, but apparently not. The siren call of the life he had been cheated out of had been too strong.

She found she couldn’t begrudge him that, though. The Man Out of Time given a chance to remedy that, and losing Tony after they were the ones to drag him back into the fray… yes, she could understand his reasoning.

“I’m not sure how to respond to that,” Natasha said after a long moment. What could she really say? It didn’t seem like Clint was a big fan of Steve’s decision, and she was pretty sure that was a conversation she did not want to get into right now, not when there was still more to discuss. 

“None of us were. None of us knew before he went, he just dropped it on us. Even Sam didn’t know until Steve showed up an old dude, gave him the shield, and named him the new Captain America.”

“Sam?” She asked in surprise, and Clint nodded. If Steve was going to pass the mantle to anyone she would have expected Bucky, but at the same time Sam was definitely the best man for the job. He had been right there, beside Steve, since pretty much the moment they met. No one was more supportive, no one deserved it more nor could handle it better than him. Her lips curled up slowly into a smile. “Good.”

Clint returned her smile, his expression softening. It was a look she knew all too well from him, one she often caught on his face when he didn’t think she was paying attention. Just seeing her smile was enough to do it, especially if he was the one who made it happen. 

Was it possible to miss someone when no time had passed? Of course she had missed him for years when he’d run off to fight his demons on his own, but then she’d gotten him back. Maybe it had been too short of a time and it hadn’t quite registered, or maybe it was just how he was talking, like she _had_ been gone for weeks, but sitting there, seeing him smile, she was struck by how much she had missed him somehow.

“That’s most of the news, I think,” he said. “We’re slowly pulling the team back together. Thor went off to space with Rocket for a while, and Wanda is still pretty fragile after everything, but hopefully she’ll come around. Having you back should help.” His brow furrowed as a thought came to his mind. “I’ll tell her as soon as we get back. In person. Make sure she understands… you know. Everything.”

Oh, Wanda. The poor girl had been through so much, and as much as Natasha wanted to think Wanda would be thrilled at her return, she also knew there would be questions. Much like her own question about Tony. How to explain to a girl who had lost all of the most important people in her life that someone could essentially be brought back from the dead, but only one certain person, not everyone. Not the people she wanted most.

Noting how Natasha’s smile fell and her expression grew troubled, Clint suddenly grabbed her hand. “But I’m sure she’s gonna be so glad you’re back!” He said, and she nodded. She didn’t really want to think about the alternative right now, and, reading her mood, he didn’t press the subject. “That’s pretty much everything in a nut shell. Sorry you’re coming back to a bit of a mess.”

If that was it for team news, that really left only one subject she was really interested in hearing about at the moment, and it was one she was certain Clint had been hoping to put off as long as possible. Well, time was up. “So what about you?”

He looked completely taken aback by the sudden question, then looked away quickly and somewhat guiltily. “I’ve been trying to fill your shoes, but let me tell you I’m a poor substitute.”

“I’m sure you’re doing fine,” she said encouragingly. She should have known he would take it upon himself to try to honour her legacy somehow. “You have a lot on your plate, and a life outside of the Avengers.”

That was something she had never had, and especially not during those five long years. But Clint had his family back, and he had finally retired. She knew Laura would be understanding of him wanting to help, but Natasha couldn’t think she’d be too pleased about it.

But there was still something wrong. He had tucked his hands back between his knees again, a habit to keep him from fidgeting, and the guilty look was back. He could feel her eyes on him, though; searching his face in that knowing manner, and he ran a hand back through his hair, sighing heavily. “About that…”

“Clint, what happened? You said the snap worked.” Of course it worked, he had just explained how everyone was back, and he wouldn’t just be sitting here like this if something had gone wrong. If his family hadn’t returned, she wouldn’t be the one he had been so focused on getting back. 

He lowered his head and closed his eyes. “You gave your life so I could live and be with my family.” He was still haunted by that day, and the guilt must have been eating him up inside. Survivor’s Guilt like they had all felt for years, but so much worse. It hadn’t been random people dying for something out of their control; it had been a choice, either her or him, and she had taken the sacrifice from him, taken his chance to redeem himself. She had left him with his family, but still burdened by all his sins with no easy way to absolve them. Before she could speak any words of comfort, though, he leaned forward abruptly, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry. I failed you.”

His words didn’t make sense, but she felt her heart break from the obvious pain he was in. “How did you fail me? You brought me back. You’ve done more than I ever could have.”

He shook his head vehemently. “You died so I could get them back and I just… I threw it all away.” 

He was speaking nonsense again, and she was reminded of the urge to shake him she often felt when he couldn’t just explain things like a normal person. It had the tendency to make her worry over nothing, and right now she was definitely worrying.

“I tried to go back,” he continued, unprompted. “I tried, but I just… it wasn’t the same.” Running his hands back through his hair he shook his head. “No, _I_wasn’t the same, but _they_ were, and I couldn’t fit back in. I couldn’t… after everything I did.”

Of course. She got it now. She understood better than anyone what that guilt felt like. He had done many horrible things during the five years his family had been gone, no matter how justified, and that wasn’t something he could just forget about because he got his old life back. There would always be that feeling that he didn’t deserve it, that they deserved better, and that there was no way he could ever earn back the good things he was blessed with. “Clint, shh, it’s okay,” she said, shifting on the sofa so she could rub his back soothingly. “It will just take some time to readjust. You’ll work it out.”

“Time’s up,” he said bluntly, shrugging his shoulders. “Divorce papers are signed and they’re all on their way to Florida.”

That statement knocked the wind out of her. Divorce? That couldn’t be right. He had the perfect classic American television show family, and those families never broke up. They had their problems, but they always worked them out by the end of the episode and all was well. That was how she’d always pictured his life. “Don’t look so surprised,” he said, with a wry chuckle, and Natasha realised she had been so genuinely shocked she hadn’t even thought of masking her reaction. “You know things were never the same after Loki messed with my head.”

“I know,” she said, brow furrowed. “But I thought it was better when you retired.”

“I thought it would be. Instead it was worse. Turns out we only worked for as long as we did because I was rarely home,” he chuckled mirthlessly at this. “Being around all the time, so quiet and isolated, after the tesseract opened up my mind to so much… if the snap hadn’t happened we woulda ended things years ago.”

It was difficult to hear him say that so surely, that his marriage had been technically over years ago, just not officially. The news shouldn’t have come as such a shock, but the fact was she hadn’t seen it coming because she hadn’t wanted to. When Clint had retired to spend more time with his family, Natasha had started distancing herself. She spent more time working with Steve, Sam, and Wanda, and less time being involved in Clint’s life. She told herself she was doing it for him, but it was probably more of a self preservation thing for her. She had loved being a part of his family, had been so grateful for it, but at the same time she could only lie to herself for so long. As the years wore on she had only loved _him_ more.

“It was hard enough before, but after… they couldn’t understand, there was no way they could understand.” The way he looked at her then, suddenly so naked and unguarded, stole her breath away. “You died so I could be with them, and it wasn’t…”. He broke off and looked away from her again. “I threw it all away.”

She wanted to argue with him, to tell him he could fix things, that she would help him get them back, but her own sudden epiphany was almost as shocking as his news had been. When it came to talking about the divorce he was straight to the point, clear and concise; it was when he spoke about failing her that he stumbled over his words.

For a long moment she was silent as she absorbed this new realisation. The divorce was a done deal, he had no regrets or confusion surrounding it, it was simply a fact. He had walked away from his family, from that life, and he had completely accepted it. It had been his choice, what he had wanted. 

The only regrets he had regarding that choice involved Natasha.

He didn’t regret leaving them, he regretted that she had given her life so he could be with them and he had left them. He regretted that she had given him a second chance and he hadn’t been able to make it work. All of this; the sleepless nights, skipping meals; he was practically drowning in guilt and… it was all for her.

She studied him closely, taking in his downcast eyes, the clench of his jaw, the veins in his arms more prominent as he tensed up. All that guilt, all that regret… all for nothing.

“I died so _you_ could live,” she finally said, her voice quiet but with a fierce edge to it. “I would have done it, family or not.” She needed him to understand that, to know that it had always been about him. His life, his happiness. He’d had more to live for than her, but it was an excuse, she would have fought just as hard if he hadn’t. 

This time when he looked at her, there was something electric in his gaze that made her breath hitch. “I would have too, you know,” he said, his tone matching the intensity of hers.

The answer was immediate and certain. “I know." She had been there, she had seen it in his eyes when he’d jumped. It would have been easy to tell herself it was just his way of making amends, of wiping the red from his ledger, but she knew that wasn’t true. He didn’t think he could make up for all he had done, thought she deserved to live because she _had_, but he also couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. The way he had pleaded with her not to let go, how all these weeks later he had found a way to bring her back, cheating time and death itself to do so… this wasn’t just about redemption.

“The world without you in it just… it wasn’t right. And I know I wasn’t there for you when I shoulda been, when you needed me, and I’m so sorry for that too-”

“Clint, please stop apologizing,” she cut him off. “You have nothing to apologize for. I wasn’t there for you either, before that, not like I should have been.” She saw the protest coming and held up her hand to stop him. “We both thought we were doing what we needed to do. We make mistakes. We’re human. But we always find our way back.”

In the end, that’s what it came down to. No matter what happened, they always found their way back to each other. She had thought Laura could help him after what Loki had done, but she had been wrong; and despite trusting Steve, Natasha had always kept him at arm’s length, never truly letting him see all the darkness she held within.

Clint nodded slowly, reluctantly accepting her words. He had so much deep seeded self loathing that it was hard to let go, but he knew she was right. They just got each other; no matter what, no matter who else they let into their lives, no one truly understood them like they did each other. Stretching his right arm up, he dropped it around her shoulders and pulled her to his side with a soft “C’mere.” Smiling at the gesture she rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, just enjoying the quiet comfort. In true Clint fashion, though, he couldn’t just leave it be. “Alright, I’m done. No more making this all about me when you’re the one who just came back from the dead.”

He made light of it even if he truly didn’t feel it, but it was enough. “Except it wasn’t like that for me,” she said, tilting her head to look up at him. And that was what it all really boiled down to. Yesterday she went to Vormir and lived, and today the world was all back to rights. She had a lot to come to terms with and accept, but it wasn’t the same as having lived through the end of the war and the loss. “Though I guess I’m going to be hearing that a lot for a while, huh?”

“Well, yeah. It’s not like it’s a common thing. Though maybe we can convince people you were just lost or something.” There was a hint of that old spark in his eyes when he looked down at her, the slightest twitch of a smirk on his lips. They had a long road ahead of them, but one thing was clear in that moment: they were both ready to move on.

“So resurrection, time travel, or ‘just got lost’ are my options? Good thing I’m excellent at hiding. If I can just avoid the press for a few months they won’t even remember I was gone.” Closing her eyes again, she settled back against him. There was no one else she had ever been this comfortable with, and it had been so long since even they had been able to just enjoy a break like this.

“We can gaslight ‘em. Act like you were always around and the reports of your death were greatly exaggerated,” he replied thoughtfully and she chuckled. After another long silence, this one relaxed and comfortable, he spoke again. “So… I guess I have a few phone calls to make, huh? There’s some people who aren’t gonna believe that story, and should probably hear it from me.”

As much as she wanted to just stay with Clint in this little bubble for a while longer, she knew he was right. There were others who cared and deserved to hear the news straight from the source. It was likely to be an emotional time, and she found herself poking Clint softly in the ribs first, making him flinch slightly and protest only half-heartedly. “Can I see your phone first?” she asked.

“I… don’t you think I should call?” he said, sounding a bit concerned. “It might be kind of… a shock…”

“Getting a call from a ghost?” she finished his sentence. “Yeah, but there’s a raccoon I need to email and I don’t know how long it will take to reach wherever he is, so figured maybe we should start there.”


End file.
